


that silly girl, she's all wound up

by cori_the_bloody



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Angry/Angsty Rebecca, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pining Nathaniel, Post-Season/Series 02, Sharing a Bed, my weirdly extensive knowledge of bugs comes into play, so does my proclivity for banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-06 21:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12219720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cori_the_bloody/pseuds/cori_the_bloody
Summary: “I posit that in a week’s time, I’ll have you, A, admitting that you still believe in love; and B, begging me to kiss you.”Nathaniel learns that Rebecca's a little more deeply wounded by what happened with Josh than she lets on and decides to do something about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Word Count:** 2,300  
>  **Author's Note:** Bethany has my gratitude forever for both betaing this story and being my friend.  
>  This first section is kind of a cross between a chapter and a prologue -- next week's installment is over three times the length, no exaggeration. It also might be the funniest non-crack!fic I've written to date, so good things are on the horizon!
> 
> Who else is looking forward to season 3 with all their might? Come say hi on [tumblr](http://catty-words.tumblr.com/) if you're as obsessed with this show as I am.

“Bunch, I need you to stay over today.” Nathaniel slaps a couple files down on the counter above Rebecca’s cubicle, knowing it’ll earn him an annoyed huff.

“Why?”

“How about because I'm your boss and I said so?”

She quirks a challenging brow at him. “Just for that, I'm leaving an hour early.”

Though his glare would send a lesser employee into groveling mode, Rebecca meets his eye with fierce determination. They stay locked in a staring competition until Paula clears her throat.

“Actually, I need that Harvard-and-Yale brain of yours on the junkyard dispute,” he explains, shooting a sheepish look in Paula’s direction. “That is, unless you’re not feeling up for it.”

She scoffs. “Oh, please. I’m the most up for it. One might say I’m uppity.”

Paula lets out an amused cough, but Nathaniel decides not to touch that one.

“Great. I’ll see you in the conference room at 6:30 sharp.”

“I’ll be there. With my A game. In fact, I already have a proposal typed up and ready to go.” Rebecca pats a thick, lime green binder that’s sitting on her desk.

He smirks. “So do I.”

“I bet mine’s better.”

“I bet it’s not.”

“Oh, it is _so_ on.”

Again, Paula clears her throat, only this time it’s just to cover her spitting out the word _disgusting_.

Nathaniel throws her a warning scowl before he walks away. He can’t help glancing back at Rebecca from across the office, though. The binder is open on her desk, and she’s quietly reading her work to herself.

He almost smiles softly, but her head snaps up—probably sensing his eyes on her—and he quickly fixes his features into more of a leer.

She sneers back, flashing him the thumbs up.

When her attention is focused back on her proposal, Nathaniel darts toward his office.

He should probably proofread his work again before their meeting.

###

There are a lot of words Nathaniel would use to describe Rebecca Bunch. Buxom. Intense. Pathetic.

But one of his newfound favorites is competitive.

No matter what Miss ‘I Hated the Ivy League Circuit I’m So Glad To Be Keeping It Breezy In So-Cal’ says, it’s in her blood to rise to the challenge. He had discovered this intriguing personality trait during an otherwise uninteresting afternoon at a pre–client-meeting prep session.

“You’re planning to suggest they settle?” Rebecca had asked him incredulously. “That’s terrible practice.”

“Part of being a good lawyer is knowing when to tell your clients their case is a lost cause. Sometimes the smartest thing you can do is back down.”

“What, are we in a John Grisham novel? You do remember we primarily practice real estate law, right? The stakes aren’t high enough to merit backing down.”

Nathaniel had rolled his eyes and pushed out of his seat to find a file in the cart by the window.

“Ah!”

Rebecca had appeared at his side in an instant. “What? What’s wrong?” He had pointed wordlessly at the stink bug crawling across the glass and she cocked her head at him. “Are you serious right now?”

“Mock later, kill now.”

“You’re afraid of bugs?”

“ _A_ bug,” Nathaniel had clarified. “The brown marmorated stink bug.”

“But they’re essentially harmless,” Rebecca had said. “The only thing they do is smell bad, and that’s only _if_ you kill them.” When he’d squinted quizzically at her, she’d shrugged. “I went through an entomology phase as a kid. It ended when my mother confiscated all the books I got from the library, saying something about how she didn’t go through the agony of childbirth to have me grow up to be a glorified exterminator. But I still learned a lot. Seriously, it’s best to just leave these guys alone.”

He’d shaken his head. “Nope, no, I’m sorry but I can’t trust any insect that’s dressed for battle. It’s shaped like a shield because it’s ready to fight. They’re evil, okay? Evil.”

Rebecca had smiled a dangerous smile then. “You’re really not gonna give this up, are you?”

“What part of evil do you not understand? These things are the Voldemort of the insect world.”

She’d made a funny face at him. “They’re probably more on the Draco Malfoy side of evil. You know, misunderstood…spurred on by societal expectations.”

“So you admit they’re at least a little bit evil,” Nathaniel had said, inching away from the window as the bug crawled higher.

“ _No_ , I was just fixing your metaphor.”

“Would you please kill it already?” He had snapped.

“I could…” she’d said, drawing out the _o_ , “or we could have a little fun.” He’d kept his eyes on the stink bug, waiting for her to spit it out. “How about we look it up, and if I’m right, I get to take the lead with the clients. We’re not throwing out that case.”

He’d spared her an annoyed glance. She’d had her arms crossed over her chest and was already wearing a triumphant expression. Not for the first time, he’d noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the way all her smiles were slightly off. He’d felt a pang of worry in his chest.

With an exasperated sigh, he’d said, “If we find out that I’m right, you’re killing this bug.”

She’d held out her hand, ready to close the deal.

Needless to say, Nathaniel had spent the entirety of the meeting silent, watching the stink bug when it was in sight and only half paying attention to Rebecca working over their client.

But—despite the hit he took to his masculinity that day—he considered the incident a success. After all, one of the tricks to being a good manager is knowing what motivates your employees.

It's not that he has a personal interest in what makes her tick. Not at all.

###

“Does salad dressing expire?” Rebecca asks, studying a grimy bottle of French she got out of the company refrigerator.

He snatches it from her. “Don’t you even think about drowning that spring mix in dressing. That wasn’t part of the terms of our Coffee Challenge.”

“Yeah, well, you won on a technicality. So I should be able to bend the rules a little,” she says, reaching across the table to grab the bottle back. He holds it above his head and far out of her reach, and she falls back into her chair, pouting like a child.

“It’s not my fault you got up early to _cheat_ and just happened to go to the same coffee cart I frequent.”

“Okay, but you were there to cheat, too,” she reminded him.

“True, but you still cheated first. So I won, doesn’t matter how,” he says, standing to put the dressing back in the fridge.

She mumbles something under her breath about compromising the integrity of victory, and he smirks at her. The grin only grows more pronounced when she chomps down on a mouthful of lettuce and nearly gags.

“Here comes Whi-Jo,” Nathaniel says, nodding politely as he breezes into the kitchen. “Like clockwork.”

Rebecca actually gags then, theatric and obnoxious, when Darryl leans in for a kiss. “Showoffs.”

“I don’t know,” Nathaniel says. “I think they’re kinda cute.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She drops her fork with a clatter. “Mr. ‘Commitment Is Boring’ thinks _that’s_ cute?”

He steals another glance at the couple, who’re standing so close their foreheads are touching. They’re both wearing bright smiles, and Nathaniel feels a wistful tug in his chest. “It’s not something I want for myself,” he explains, though the words sound a little hollow. “I guess, I don’t know, I like Darryl in the same way you feel compelled to feed stray cats. So it’s nice to see him happy.”

“Whatever,” Rebecca says, stabbing at her salad. “I thought I could at least count on you for relationship bitterness, but you’re totally going soft.”

“I am _not_ ,” he says, horrified.

“You are. God, now who am I gonna go to when I want to rant about how disgusting love is?”

“I am not soft,” Nathaniel insists. “And you don’t really believe love is disgusting.”

“I sure do. Being left at the altar during my wedding made me realize some things. For example, love is garbage and so is Josh Chan.”

“Well I won’t argue with the second part.”

She flips him off. “You know what else is garbage? This salad. I’m getting dressing and you can’t stop me.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest.

###

“You wanted to see me?” Paula asks, stepping into his office.

“Yeah, close the door behind you.”

She does as she’s told before sitting. “What’s up, boss?”

“I’m worried about Rebecca,” he says, whispering conspiratorially.

“Join the club,” Paula says. “Who isn’t these days?”

Nathaniel frowns. “Obviously her behavior since the wedding’s been erratic, but she said something to me today that really has me troubled.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “What is it?”

He checks to make sure no one’s right outside his office before leaning over his desk. “She said she doesn’t believe in love anymore.”

Paula blinks. “Okay?”

“That doesn’t,” Nathaniel struggles for a moment, trying to put words to the twisted ball of emotion creating the ache in his chest, “…bother you?”

“I think it’s a normal reaction to what she’s been through,” she says, waving away his concern. “Personally, I’ve given up on love for way less. After I had my first kid, Scott and I didn’t touch each other for months, and I convinced myself that love was a farce. Now though, if we happen to get a moment alone once a year, I’m like ‘ _The hills are alive, magic is real_.’ All that junk.”

He sits back in his chair. “First of all, thank you for that bit of oversharing. I’m going to do my best to forget that I know anything about your sex life.”

“You know what, I think that’s better for both of us.”

“Agreed. As for Rebecca, you’re saying she just needs to have a The Hills are Alive moment, and she’ll go back to normal?”

Paula’s expression suddenly turns scrutinizing, and Nathaniel resists the urge to shift in his seat. “Why do you care so much about Rebecca’s personal philosophy on love, anyway?”

“We’re friends,” he says dismissively, turning his attention to his computer and opening his email.

“And?”

He scoffs. “And nothing.”

“Wanna know what I think?”

He opens up a new message and starts typing random words, hoping she’ll get the hint that he’s busy and leave.

It doesn’t work.

“I think you’re in love with her.”

“That is—that’s just.” He falters, clears his throat, and then calmly says, “Ridiculous.”

Paula clucks her tongue. “Not only are you in love with her, but you’ve got it _bad_. Weren’t you the one who sent for her father, forced him to show up to her wedding? If that doesn’t scream ‘big romantic gesture,’ I don’t know what does.”

Nathaniel turns to her, stern frown on his face. “I don’t think about Rebecca like that; it’d be highly inappropriate.” She hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything. Her silence compels him to add, “I simply don’t want her to give up on what’s important to her because of that dipshit Chan. I mean, a Rebecca who isn’t a hopeless romantic is as weird as one who isn’t constantly humming show tunes or making bad Harry Potter puns. It’s a part of who she is.”

“Uh-uh.” Paula studies him with a huge grin on her face.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, turning back to his fake email.

When he looks up again, she’s gone, thankfully, but the unsettled feeling in his stomach lingers.

###

“Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?” Rebecca asks, poking her head into his office the next morning.

He’s rendered silent for a moment too long, letting his gaze linger on her face despite the mountain of paperwork he needs to read through before noon.

“Dude, did you just fall asleep with your eyes open?” she asks. “You’re freaking me out.”

“What? No, I—sorry. Yeah. We’re trying the new Thai place on East Cameron, right?”

“Yeah, and you promised to pay. You better not forget that part.”

Nathaniel laughs a bit too heartily and then coughs to cover up his embarrassment. “I, uh, I haven’t.”

Rebecca steps into the office then, tilting her head and watching him carefully. “Is everything alright with you?”

He gestures to all the files littering his desk. “Just a little overworked. It makes me giddy.”

“You’re probably the only person on the entire planet with that problem,” she says, but visibly relaxes, accepting that explanation for his weird behavior. “Is there anything I can help you out with? Feel free to say no.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing work related. I did want to talk to you about something, though.”

She waggles her eyebrows, and the silly gesture makes Nathaniel feel lightheaded. “Sounds ominous.”

“Not really. I’ve been thinking about our next challenge.”

“Oh, good, cause I’ve got nothing,” Rebecca says, plopping down into one of his chairs. “But I think it’s time to step up our game. Take things to the next level before this gets boring.”

“I’m so glad you think so,” Nathaniel says. His heart thunders in his chest, but his smile remains calm and coy.

Rebecca smirks back. “So what’ve you got?”

He stands, walks around to the front of his desk, and perches on the edge, angling himself toward her. Not once does he break eye contact.

“I posit that in a week’s time, I’ll have you, A, admitting that you still believe in love; and B, begging me to kiss you.”

She stares, a deer caught in the headlights. “Wh-what?”

He nods. “You have to resist me for a week—that’s the challenge. If you can do it, I’ll never make a pass at you again. If you can’t, well, I get the satisfaction of being right.”

“Shouldn’t I get to pick what happens if I win?” Rebecca says, jerking up her chin defiantly. Her quickened breath gives away her nerves, though.

“Sure,” Nathaniel agrees easily. “So we have a deal?”

After a second of deliberation, she takes his outstretched hand and gives it a firm shake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word Count:** 10,500  
>  **Author's Note:** My favorite thing about Bethany is that she leaves such encouraging comments as she reads over my work. She's a talented editor and a true friend -- thanks Bethany!  
>  The end of this chapter might feel a little familiar if you've read my other r/n story. Apparently I have a thing for Rebecca pouring her heart out in hotel rooms?  
> As a special treat, here is the first half of the playlist I listened to on loop while writing this story:
> 
>   * Confession - D'Artagnan
>   * Let's Have Intercourse - CEG Cast
>   * I'm a Mess - Ed Sheeran
> 

> 
> Season 3 starts in one week!! Come say hi on [tumblr](http://catty-words.tumblr.com/) if you're as obsessed with this show as I am.

_Change of plans—we’re staying in tonight. I’ll be at your place in 10._

Rebecca reads over Nathaniel’s text again, and her heart jumps up into her throat. It’s only been one day since he issued her the latest challenge, and she’s kind of astounded at how quickly he’s turned his charm meter up to eleven around the office.

She doesn’t even want to imagine what he’s gonna be like in a private setting.

Worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth, Rebecca crawls off her bed and runs across the hall.

“Heather, Heather, Heather,” she says, frantically pounding on her closed bedroom door.

One long minute later, Heather finally opens the door. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, I know. Knock once, then wait. But this is super important.”

Heather raises a disbelieving eyebrow but doesn’t send her away.

“Okay, so my hunky asshole of a boss is going to be here in,” she checks her phone, “eight minutes to hang out, but I can’t be alone with him or he’ll use his evil powers of gorgeousness to seduce me. Please tell me you’re staying home tonight—please, please, please.”

Heather falls backward onto her bed and inspects her nails. “Yeah, actually V and I were gonna go to the community center. They’re administering free career aptitude tests, and I’m, like, kinda excited to take one.”

“I didn’t know West Covina had a community center,” Rebecca says, getting sidetracked.

“I didn’t either,” Heather says, peeling off some chipped polish. “But apparently V took yoga classes there while she was in high school and it changed her life. I think she’s hoping there’s some leftover mojo and she’s gonna figure her whole future out.”

Rebecca cringes. “That can only end well.”

Heather nods. “I bought a couple bottles of her favorite rosé in case of disaster.”

“Cool. Enough about that, though. Let’s get back to me.” Heather shrugs, and Rebecca doesn’t need more prompting than that to continue. “What you’re saying is, I’m gonna have the place to myself tonight.”

“Yup. The only thing standing between you and hate-sexing your boss is your self-control. So. Good luck.”

Rebecca frowns and looks at the time. Nathaniel will be there any minute. “Damn my impulsiveness.”

“Who knows,” Heather says as she reaches for her buzzing phone. She reads the text and then grabs one of the flannels draped over her headboard, standing so she can put it on. “Maybe it’d be good for you. You’ve been way more uptight than usual lately, and Harvey Specter seems interested in doting on you. He could probably make the weirdness of getting freaky with your boss worth it.”

“You’re not helping,” Rebecca whines.

Heather shoves her feet into her boots. “Yeah, well, Valencia’s here. You could come with us if you want.”

Rebecca considers that as she trails behind Heather on the way to the front door. But when Heather swings it open, Nathaniel’s standing there, brown paper bag clutched in one hand and his phone pressed to his ear.

“I was just calling you,” he says. He grins as he takes in her outfit—sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie from the Yale law journal—like he knows what she’s up to by dressing down. “I brought Thai food and enough Barbra Streisand movies to keep us occupied for days.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “This feels like a trap.”

Heather makes an interested ‘huh’ sound in the back of her throat. “I guess in the right light, he’s not really that much of an asshole.”

Nathaniel cocks his head at her.

“He’s only being nice to get in my pants, remember.”

“That’s true. I’d still hit that,” Heather says, then looks him up and down and nods in affirmation.

“Um, is anyone going to invite me inside?” he asks, almost looking self-conscious.

“It’s your call,” Heather says to Rebecca, and a horn sounds from outside. “I’m out.”

As she pushes past him, Nathaniel steps aside and then gives Rebecca a pouty look.

She throws her arms up. “Fine, whatever. Come in.”

He does, making a beeline for the kitchen so he can unpack the takeout.

She closes the door and then follows. “So…which movies did you bring? _Funny Girl_?”

He smiles like he’s already won.

###

Rebecca insists that they watch the movies chronologically, and Nathaniel falls asleep somewhere in the middle of _Hello, Dolly!_

_He’s actually kinda cute_ , she allows herself to think while no one’s watching and she can observe him unabashedly. His hair must have less product in it than usual because it looks real sloppy, not carefully-cultivated sloppy. It’s thick along the top of his head and she wants to sink both her hands into it.

And then there’s the birthmark at the base of his neck, currently on full display as his head lolls against the back of the couch. She’s never been much of a biter, but she can’t seem to shake the desire to trap that bit of skin between her teeth.

Suddenly, she remembers the dream she had all those months ago in vivid detail—the way he kissed her deeply, the weight of his body overtop hers—and shivers. Slowly, though, the memory transforms into something else and she’s imagining the way he might curl his pointer finger into one of her curls while the thumb of the same hand rubs tender circles into her cheek.

She can hear his voice, soft and hesitant. “ _I love you, Rebecca_.”

This is no longer the mindless hookup from her dream. There’s _intimacy_ to this fantasy.

Rebecca can feel her chest tightening, forcing her to work for every breath she takes—a sure sign of mounting panic.

Like Dr. Akopian advised her, she places her palm on her chest, right over her heart, and then pushes her pinky into her skin—“One,” she counts, whispering to herself—then her ring finger. “Two.”

She goes through the five digits over and over until she feels grounded in the moment again. With a shaky hand, she grabs the remote and turns up the volume on the television.

###

Nathaniel wakes when she gets up to change the disc.

“One-half out of five stars,” she says.

He squints at her like he’s not quite sure what language she’s speaking.

“I give your attempt at seduction for the night half a star,” she clarifies.

“Oh,” he says, then laughs sheepishly. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not that long—just over an hour,” she says, hitting play.

He hums in acknowledgement and then scrubs the sleep out of his eyes. Now that she’s looking, she can see that he’s a little haggard.

“You been sleeping much?”

“Not really, actually. I keep having these weird dreams.”

The skin at the nape of her neck prickles with heat. “What kind of dreams?”

When he doesn’t answer for a while, Rebecca glances over at him, only to find that he’s watching her. His lips are pressed thin and when their eyes meet, he actually blushes.

Her skin feels hotter still.

“I’ve been having weird dreams, too,” she blurts out after a second. She thinks it’s probably desperation to control the conversation, but she doesn’t look too closely at her motivation. Just lets the words fall from her mouth. “Yeah, I’m in this bulky white dress, okay? And I get in a car with my mother—which is my first mistake because I know I have be somewhere and she drives like she’s hoping we’ll get into an accident and die—and the second the doors lock, I’m just filled with dread. I know I’m never gonna make it where I need to go. To make matters worse, my mom keeps going on and on about how today’s going to change things, that she’ll finally be able to respect me. But the longer it takes us to get wherever we’re going, the angrier she gets. And I’m sitting there, powerless, shrinking into the dress and suffocating. I’m thinking of writing a letter about it for the American Journal of Psychology. I bet they would have a heyday with it, don’t you think?”

“Rebecca.”

He says her name way too gently, and her mind flashes back to her fantasy-gone-wrong.

“I, uh, I don’t feel well,” she says. “I think I’m about to spend a couple painful hours on the crapper, so you should probably leave.”

“Rebecca,” he says again, even quieter this time.

“I’m serious. Get out.”

After a second of hesitation, he stands and starts gathering his stuff. Rebecca pauses the movie and takes their dirty dishes to the sink. She doesn’t actually rinse them, though. Instead, she stands there with her hands clenched around the edge of the counter, studying the cracks in the ceramic.

She can feel his eyes on her as he lingers in the door, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything else. When the door closes behind him, she exhales—relieved to be alone.

###

“So how’d your date with Nathaniel go last night?” Paula asks. She always calls Rebecca after her Saturday study group.

“It wasn’t a date.”

Paula makes a knowing sound that compels Rebecca to clench her jaw. Once upon a time, she’d needle Paula until she told her the latest sich. Now, the idea that Paula might tell her without prompting makes her want to curl into a ball on the couch and take a ten-year nap.

“Oh, Cookie,” Paula starts. “I know what I’ve said about him before, but Nathaniel might actually—”

“I don’t want to date anyone right now,” Rebecca says, cutting her off. She starts pacing around the kitchen island. “Love is a lie sold to us by Hollywood. And what’s the point in dating if you’re not looking for love?”

“Maybe you could just date to have a little fun,” Paula says. “You don’t need to be looking for The One, right?”

“The One left me at the altar, remember?” Rebecca snaps. “So why are you pushing this?”

Paula sighs, exasperated. She’s being doing that a lot lately—letting more and more of her impatience with Rebecca slip through the cracks. “I’m not trying to push.”

“Good.”

“So how was…your night?” Paula asks.

She’s clearly trying to extinguish the slowly-building fire, but Rebecca feels as volatile as lighter fluid and angry enough not to care about her friend’s efforts. So she says, “You should probably get back to studying. I know how Sunil gets when you go over the allotted ten minutes.”

“It’s barely been five yet—” Paula says, but Rebecca continues to speak over her.

“I’ll talk to you later.” She hangs up and tosses her phone down onto the counter. After a second of silence, she yells, “Heather?”

When there’s no answer, Rebecca goes to the liquor cabinet and pulls out the disgusting watermelon vodka she’d bought on a whim last week.

“To being alone forever and always for the rest of my life,” she toasts, uncapping the bottle and holding it high into the air. Then she takes three large gulps, gagging as tears spring to her eyes. “God, that’s disgusting. What am I gonna eat to make the watermelon-on-fire taste go away?”

It’s been too long since she went grocery shopping, and the fridge is depressingly barren. She takes another swig of the alcohol as she surveys her options: eggs, a couple slices of deli meat that are probably on their way to inedibility, a jar of applesauce…

She stands in front of the refrigerator drinking the watermelon vodka until she’s struck with inspiration.

“Cookies,” she says to herself, grabbing the eggs. “I’m a cookie who’s gonna eat some cookies.” That makes her giggle.

Thankfully, they have all the ingredients squirreled away around the kitchen, but Rebecca gets bored before she makes it to the actual baking and decides to just eat the cookie dough out of the bowl.

She can’t even really remember why she started baking cookies in the first place. Her vodka’s just about gone, and she can’t taste anything anymore.

###

“Can you come over?” Rebecca moans into the phone. “I think I’m dying.”

“What?”

Paula’s voice sounds deeper than usual. Rebecca hopes she’s okay, but also, her stomach is waging a war on her esophagus and she has to hang up. She barely manages to pull herself off the bathroom floor so she can lean over the toilet before she starts dry heaving again.

The latest spell has ended and she’s back to being sprawled out on the floor by the time she hears the front door open.

“Rebecca?”

The voice sounds panicked and, again, a little too deep to be Paula. If she’d been in any other state, she might have been puzzled, but since she’s on the verge of death, she mumbles into the bathroom tile, “In here.”

“What’s going on? Are you—” Nathaniel crashes into the room and takes in the sight of her in the same clothes as last night, curled into the fetal position next to the toilet. He lowers his baseball bat.

Rebecca gapes at him, horrified. “What are you wearing?”

He glances down at himself, at what she can only describe as a two-piece, short-sleeve unitard. The black material clings to his muscular thighs and chest, and she feels a pang in her gut that—miraculously—has nothing to do with the cookie dough and alcohol she consumed.

“It wicks sweat,” he says defensively, tugging on the hem of the shirt. “I was in the middle of my afternoon jog, and, you know what? Why is this even relevant? You said you were dying!”

“I was trying to call Paula, not you,” she says, happy to force her attention away from the bodysuit. “So go away. And if you could shoot Paula a text that she’s needed here on your way out, that’d be great. Bye.”

“What happened?” he asks, propping the bat up against the doorframe. He then grabs a washcloth off the towel rack and runs it under cold water.

She tries to protest when he crouches in front of her, but it dies in the back of her throat when he starts to dab the dried sweat off her forehead. Though she can feel his eyes on her face, she keeps hers trained on the tile.

“I, uh, drank most of a bottle of vodka and ate some raw eggs,” she says weakly.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of a danger to yourself?”

Her nostrils flare, but she doesn’t have the chance to get too worked up. Another flash of pain stabs deep in her stomach and she curls more tightly around herself.

Nathaniel scoots away from the toilet but doesn’t stop cleaning off her face. “This does disprove my theory that your stomach is made of cast iron, though. I’ll have to stop working on my submission for _Ripley’s Believe It or Not!_ ”

Rebecca groans and glances up at him. “This is why I called Paula and not you. She would never make fun of me while I’m this helpless.”

He shakes his head dismissively, but the corners of his mouth turn down in a frown. After a second, he asks, “Do you feel like you’re about to puke again?”

“I don’t think so,” she says.

“Do you want me to carry you to your bed?”

“No, I live here now. The tile provides more back support than you’d think, and I’m gonna start work on a Heather wig. There’s enough hair in here for that, at least by my estimation.”

“Gross.” Nathaniel winces. He tosses the washcloth into the sink and works his arms under her.

“So, you asking that was just a formality then?” She closes her eyes, willing her stomach to stay settled through the change in elevation.

“I would have respected a real answer had I gotten one,” he says, almost playfully, and Rebecca tries not to dwell on the fact that it barely takes him any effort to scoop her into his arms.

As soon as she’s tucked in bed, he rushes off. A minute later, he comes back with the trashcan from the kitchen and a half-finished Gatorade. “You should drink some of that, rehydrate.”

She makes a face at it. “Your spit is in there.”

“And probably some sweat, too.”

“Disgusting.”

“Well, if you need to puke, there’s a garbage can right there.”

“Can we, like, not say that word?”

Nathaniel grins. “Can I get you anything else? Like a heating pad or something?”

“A heating pad?” Rebecca asks after she’s finished taking a tentative sip of the Gatorade.

“Sure.” She stares at him questioningly till he explains. “It’s something my mom used to do for period cramps, and, uh, I know this isn’t the same thing, but—it might help, right?”

She feels her brow furrow as she studies him. He’s staring at his shoes, looking almost bashful, and she remembers the story Paula told her about how he embarrassed himself in front of the whole office because he wouldn’t go home sick…something about his dad and weird sayings.

She swallows over the sudden ache in her throat.

“A heating pad would be nice,” she finds herself saying. “We keep one under the bathroom sink.”

By the time he’s returned, she’s started up the murder mystery podcast she’s been listening to.

“What’s this?” he asks, plugging in the pad and handing it to Rebecca.

She sets it to her preferred heat setting and snuggles further under the covers. “Shh.”

He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “Fine. Do you mind if I use your shower?”

She pauses her program. “Nope, especially if it means you’ll wear new clothes afterward.”

He laughs. “You’re in luck. I always keep some spare sweats in the gym bag in my trunk. Do you need anything before I go?”

“No.” She starts the podcast again. Before he leaves the room, though, she calls out, “Hey!” He turns back to her. “Thank you.”

He gives her a soft smile, and she feels it all the way down to her toes.

###

“Wait, wait, wait, wasn’t this guy the lead suspect last episode? Now he’s helping with the investigation…what is going on?”

Rebecca pauses. “Can you please keep up or shut your mouth? You’re distracting me.”

Wounded, Nathaniel practically pouts out his lower lip, and she narrows her eyes. Something about him, though—the way he’s lounging on top of her covers so he doesn’t get leftover Thai food between her sheets or maybe the way his drying hair flops over his forehead or maybe even the way his too-big Stanford Law t-shirt is hanging loose around his collarbone—makes her soften almost instantly.

“Okay, fine, I’ll explain it _one more time_.”

“Thank you,” he says triumphantly, stabbing a mushroom with his fork.

“But after that, you’re on your own.”

“Understood,” he says, grinning down into the takeout carton.

“We open, classic noir style, on a stormy night in a disgruntled detective’s office. But oh wait, don’t get too used to the form—this detective is a middle-aged lady that doesn’t take shit, but also has a heart of gold.”

“No shit, golden heart,” Nathaniel says. “Got it.”

She punches him in the shoulder before continuing. “She’s been looking into this mysterious string of murders that have shaken Chicago to the core…”

###

It’s been a couple episodes since Nathaniel stopped asking questions, and Rebecca’s been lulled into an almost-slumber. Thankfully, she’s kept down the sleeve of crackers she ate just fine, but her stomach still feels a little raw.

It occurs to her that she shouldn’t feel so comfortable having Nathaniel this close, just hanging out with her in her bed. And yet she’s powerless against the easiness of it. There’s something reassuring about the warmth of his body and the musky smell of his shampoo. It almost helps her relax, rather than agitates.

She draws in a deep breath, but it makes her grimace, her stomach roiling. Before she has the chance to get a handle on herself, she leans over the trash and starts to heave.

Nathaniel springs into action immediately, pausing the podcast, kneeling behind her on the bed, and combing the hair back from her face. He gathers it into a sloppy ponytail, his palms smoothing along the top and sides of her head again and again.

When it seems like things have settled again, he helps her get back under the covers and smiles weakly.

“Now what have we learned about eating raw eggs?” he asks.

“Don’t be a condescending prick,” she snaps, her voice raspy. “I knew it was bad to eat raw eggs before this, and I did it anyway. Knowledge can’t stop me.”

After a beat, they both laugh.

###

When Rebecca wakes up from a fitful dozing, she senses immediately that something’s different.

“Nathaniel?” she asks the darkness.

“Oh, Cookie, you’re awake. How’re you feeling, babe?”

“Paula? What’s going on? Am I alive? Is this the afterlife?”

The soft light of her bedside table lamp fills the room.

“Take a deep breath,” Paula advises.

Rebecca does, and then asks, “What time is it?”

“Just after 10:00. You’ve been asleep for a while.”

“Have you been here long? I’m sorry.”

Paula sits at the foot of the bed and rubs Rebecca’s leg. “There’s nothing to be sorry about—though I did clean your kitchen and you owe me for that. You did a real number on those nice counters.”

Rebecca shrugs apologetically, the events of the day coming back to her. “Um, who else is…here?” she asks, trying to be crafty.

“Nathaniel called me to tell me what happened and see if I could check on you later. He left hours ago,” Paula says, seeing right through her.

“Oh. Right. Smart.”

“Are you gonna get all moody on me if I ask what’s going on with you two?”

“There’s nothing going on between us!” Rebecca says, and it’s almost like a reflex.

Paula clucks her tongue. “Alright, fine. You want me to make you some chicken and matzo ball soup, or are you not there yet?”

Rebecca’s stomach growls audibly. “Oh, my god. Please.”

###

Tuesday morning, Rebecca wakes before her alarm. And it’s not the groggy, I’d-sell-my-house-for-those-remaining-minutes-of-sleep kind of before-the-alarm wakefulness. She instantly feels refreshed and ready to take on the day.

She decides to use her extra time to have a nice breakfast of scrambled eggs and a toasted bagel. Once she’s seated at the table, she opens the Facebook app on her phone and starts scrolling.

Almost without meaning to, she finds herself on Josh Chan’s page. He hasn’t been active since before their wedding, but that hasn’t stopped her from checking periodically.

Her thumb hovers over his profile picture for several minutes until she finally decides that it’s not worth it on a pleasant day like today.

Then, without giving it too much thought, she types ‘Nathaniel Plimpton III’ into the search bar.

His Facebook is simple, professional—nothing too personal, political, or scandalous. All the photos, of which there are few, feature him in groups of men in suits. It’s all very dry and does nothing to satiate Rebecca’s curiosity.

When the doorbell rings, she jumps out of her seat and shoves her phone into her bra.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” she tells the empty room, then shakes her head at herself and goes to answer the door. After wrenching it open, she does a double take. “Whoa. Am I being pranked?”

Nathaniel—dressed not in his standard weekday suit, but a striped t-shirt and swim trunks—mock laughs. “No, but you are being kidnapped. Go change.”

She cocks her head at him. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Technically, I am.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and he sighs. “Fine, let me explain.”

Nodding him inside, she says, “Please do.”

“I thought it’d be fun if, instead of going to work today, we take a trip to the beach. So grab a swimsuit and let’s hit the road! My GPS is saying it’ll take us at least three hours, which surprised me. Isn’t everyone here always going on about how this place is only two hours from the beach?”

“Yeah, that’s not a complete enough explanation,” Rebecca says.

Nathaniel raises his eyebrows. “Do you want to go to work instead of the beach?”

“I’ll grab my swimsuit!”

“Uh-huh.”

When she gets to her room, she rushes to her closet. “Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap. What do I do?”

She pulls her phone out, wipes away the boob sweat residue, and opens the Gurl Group group message.

Rebecca: _OMG you guys, Nathaniel’s surprising me with a daytrip to the beach but I haven’t talked to him in a one-on-one sense since he took care of me while I was puking everywhere and I was actually trying to avoid him but I don’t think I can get out of this and I also don’t know what to wear. HELP!_

Paula: _This is huge!_

V: _wait, so what’s the issue?_

Rebecca: _I don’t know how to act around him!! Or if I have any swimsuits that don’t sag in the ass._

Paula: _Just wear a cute sundress and don’t go in the ocean. Problem solved._

Paula: _Though swimsuits are prime opportunities to show off cleavage. You might just have to chance flashing him if you get caught in a large wave._

V: _do you own a sarong? Because you can still show off your cleavage and protect your ass if you do._

Paula: _that is genius. I’m sorry I took two years to properly learn your name._

V: _um, what?_

“Rebecca?” Nathaniel calls from the kitchen. “Everything okay?”

“Of course,” she yells back, but her voice cracks. She clears her throat and says, “You have no idea how much effort it takes to smuggle these puppies into some nylon. Hey, uh, who’s going to supervise the office while we’re gone?”

It’s a lame attempt at stalling, but she doesn’t care.

Rebecca: _Do I seem like the kind of person who owns a sarong?_

“I called Darryl and told him we had a special case to work on so he had to run things for the day.” A beat. “God, nothing is going to get done, is it?”

“Not likely,” she says.

“Would you two _shut up_ ,” Heather says, storming into Rebecca’s room. She thrusts a sarong at her and turns around. “It’s, like, seven a.m. and some of us are trying to be unemployed in dreamland.”

“Sorry,” Rebecca says meekly, and then starts to change.

Seconds later, her phone vibrates with a text.

Heather: _crisis averted_.

Then she sends another that’s just the sleepy face emoji.

Once she’s changed—it takes her an embarrassing amount of time to figure out how to secure the sarong around her hips—Rebecca turns the light off in her room and creeps as quietly as she can past Heather’s.

“Ready to go?” she asks Nathaniel.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, too busy drinking her in. She smirks to herself and makes a mental note to thank Valencia once they’re in the car.

“Um…yeah. Let’s go.”

###

Apparently Nathaniel’s definition of taking the day off means working his way through the three-hour car ride.

While he’s on the phone with clients, answering questions or directing them to Paula for help, Rebecca grabs her paperback copy of _A Doll’s House_ from her bag. She’s been rereading some of her favorite plays and taking notes for how she’d stage them, just for fun.

The only time Nathaniel’s conversations pique her interest is when he gets a call from his dad.

“Hey Pops, what can I do for you?” A long pause. “I sent those over last week. Did you not—” His nostrils flare when he’s cut off. Rebecca doesn’t think she’s ever seen anyone’s neck look so stiff. “I understand, sir. I will get you those updates first thing tomorrow.” A weighty sigh. “I am well aware of the urgency, yes, but I do have other matters to attend to.” Another long pause. “Yes, sir. By eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Will do.”

After hanging up the phone, Nathaniel squeezes the steering wheel too tight and stomps on the brakes once they move forward another couple inches in traffic.

“Do you wanna…?” She starts to ask.

“No,” he says curtly. Then he glances over at her, and she gives him a small, sympathetic smile. He repeats himself, softer this time, “No, thank you.”

By the time they finally get to the beach, Nathaniel’s called Darryl five different times to check in.

“So is this what it’s gonna be like all day?” she asks as they pull into a parking space.

“What?”

“Don’t _what_ me, Mr. Workaholic.”

He looks sheepishly at all the files spread out on his dashboard and then takes out his earpiece. “As the owner of the firm, there are certain things I can’t step away from.”

“Sure, mm-hmm. So why are we doing this again?”

His tiny grin threatens to spread into a full-blown smile, and he ducks his head. “Right. No more work for the rest of the day.”

“I’m holding you to that,” she says, getting out of the car. “Like, seriously, if I see you doing work things, I’m going to…I’m going to make you buy overpriced beach beer and get smashed. Yeah! Cause you can’t do work drunk.”

“Solid logic,” he says, grabbing a bag from the backseat.

“That’s right,” she says as they fall into step, heading for the sand. “In fact, I challenge you to not do work for the rest of the day, or else we’ll end up at one of these tacky hotel restaurants drinking the night away.”

“Oh, it’s an official challenge then?”

“You bet your ass.”

He holds out his hand. “Bring it on.”

She shakes it. “Consider it brought.”

###

Not only has Nathaniel organized an impromptu trip to the beach, he’s _prepared_. He pulls out a blanket when they find an unoccupied spot on the beach, along with some sunscreen and a couple towels.

“I’m impressed,” Rebecca says. “You gave this some thought.”

He scoffs. “You’re that easy to impress?”

She shrugs. “Guess so.”

“So why haven’t you thrown yourself at me yet?”

His tone is jokey, but she can hear the undercurrent of real hurt in his voice. Still, she decides to ignore it—she’s not sure how to respond, anyway—and fake gags at his comment.

“Yeah, okay, I deserved that.”

Smiling, she kneels on the edge of the blanket and grabs the sunscreen. “Ooh, fancy. Water resistant and perfect for sensitive skin.”

“Well, you can’t keep your face looking this good if you use any old sunscreen on it,” he says, snatching the tube out of her hands and squeezing a dollop onto his palm. “It’s too late for your face to look good, but you can still use it if you want.”

“Wow. Low blow, dude. I happen to know you love my face.”

He shrugs as he rubs the lotion on his cheeks. “I thought you didn’t believe in love.”

She grabs the sunscreen—she does burn pretty easily—and squirts some onto her pointer finger. “You are purposefully conflating a-feeling-of-affection kind of love with sweeping-romance love to win a silly game.”

He glances at her quickly, then looks away. “What if I told you it’s not a silly game to me?”

Rebecca’s heart thuds in her chest. “Oh.”

“You still haven’t told me what you want if you win.”

She tilts her chin up and gives him her best coy smile. “I know.”

“All right, so that’s how it’s gonna be.”

“It sure is.”

They share a smile and then go back to applying sunscreen in companionable silence. Of course, when Nathaniel pulls his shirt off and starts rubbing the lotion on his chest, Rebecca gets a little distracted.

“Would you be able to get my back?” he asks, turning to her.

Caught ogling, she wills herself not to turn bright red and nods. “Of course.”

She gets up so she can kneel behind him and accepts the tube. Licking her lips, she takes a deep breath to compose herself so her hands don’t shake when she starts massaging sunscreen into his shoulders. His skin is warm and smooth, and the firm muscles underneath jump and twitch as she works, making her want to push harder, to soothe them.

When she slides her palms over the tops of his shoulders and then along the back of his neck, gliding her fingers down each notch of his spine, Nathaniel makes a soft humming noise of contentment that creates a tug in the pit of Rebecca’s stomach.

After another minute, she clears her throat. “You’re, um, all done.”

“Thanks,” he says, his voice just above a whisper.

There’s a tense moment wherein Rebecca really wants to lean in and kiss the top of his pink ear. She’s always kinda liked the way they stick out from his head, begging you to grab onto them.

A scene of her straddling his lap, gripping onto his obscene ears, and guiding him in for a kiss invades her mind.

Instead of doing any of that, she stands and says, “Think you could return the favor?”

He practically springs to his feet. “I think I could manage that, yeah.”

All the reasons that wasn’t actually a good diversion start piling up around her when he steps into her personal space. Her nerves are suddenly on high alert, and her overactive imagination provides her with a colorful cartoon image of all her nerve endings straining toward Nathaniel, making grabby hand gestures.

They don’t have to struggle for long, though. All too soon, his large hand is working its way under the strappy, crisscrossed back of her swimsuit. The coolness of the sunscreen makes her jolt, but the shock of it is quickly replaced by the lulling feeling of his fingers swirling the lotion into her skin.

Using just enough pressure to work her into a torturous simmer, he starts at her lower back, fingers dipping under her sarong. His touches are all hard enough to demonstrate that he knows what he’s doing, and just teasing enough to have Rebecca pushing herself into his hands ever so slightly. In fact, by the time he’s rubbing sunscreen onto the tops of her shoulders, she’s nearly leaning into him—the space between them barely quantifiable.

Even when he stops, his palms curling over her shoulders, neither of them move.

“Rebecca,” Nathaniel says.

She turns, stepping away just enough to do so.

Instantly, she understands his question without him having to speak it: _Can I kiss you right now—would you ask me to?_

Though Rebecca’s heart trips over itself at the suggestion, she says, “It’s not some silly game to you.”

“Hm?”

She speaks louder, forcing herself to look him in the eyes. “It’s not some silly game to you.”

She sees in his face the moment he gets what she means. And just a second later, he ducks his head.

“I know I’ve,” he clears his throat, “displayed a certain attitude toward commitment in the past, but…” He lifts his face, and she recognizes a flash of self-loathing before he says, “But I don’t think I would hurt you. I’d try not to.”

This time she hopes _he_ can hear what _she’s_ not saying: _I believe you, but…_

There are too many justifications to tack onto the end of the thought, so she just lets it trail off in her head and takes another step away from him.

“Can I have your keys?”

“What?” He asks, alarmed by the sudden shift in the conversation.

“I’m gonna do some reading and sunbathing, but I left my book in the car, so…”

“Oh, right. Sure.” Nathaniel tosses her the keys.

She nods in thanks, and then all but runs away.

###

The next couple hours are awkward, to say the least. Neither of them wants to dwell on the failed moment any longer, but it still sits between them like an insurmountable wall.

Around noon, Nathaniel goes to find them some lunch, and in the thirty minutes he’s gone, Rebecca gets more reading done than she has the rest of the day.

After they eat, she excuses herself to the public beach restrooms that always manage to smell like fishy urine. When she comes back, she’s almost relieved to find Nathaniel on the phone with a client.

“Ha!” She bounces in front of their blanket and points and accusatory finger at him. “Caught red-handed.”

“I will look up that information and get back to you,” he says quickly and then hangs up. He raises his eyebrows at her as he tucks his phone back into the pocket of his swim trunks, trying to look innocent.

“Uh-huh, that’s not working. Pack up. We’ve gotta find an establishment that sells expensive beer that tastes like pine cones because you have to chug, like, ten.”

“Oh, so the goal is to kill me then?”

“You don’t have to do it all at once.”

That earns her a reluctant chuckle.

“C’mon,” she encourages. “You lost, I won. Now let’s go spend that hard-earned cash on a bunch of alcohol.”

Nathaniel nods and gets up so he can shake out the blanket.

With a clap and a squeal, Rebecca sets off toward the car.

###

They find a nearby hotel. It’s fancy, with a patio that overlooks the beach and candles on every table. Once they’re seated outside, Rebecca orders for both of them, instructing the waiter to bring the whole bottle of wine she ordered for herself to the table. They’re gonna be there for a while, after all.

Half-way through her first drink, Rebecca relaxes. Maybe it’s unhealthy or whatever, but she’s more than willing to let some alcohol smooth away the image of Nathaniel’s hurt expression after she rejected him. They’re just two friends hanging out…getting drunk at 1:30 in the afternoon.

“To days off,” she toasts, holding up her glass. Nathaniel lifts his mug, as well, and then they both drink down what they have left.

He winces. “I am going to regret this.”

“The drinking or taking time off?”

“Both, probably,” he says, his brow wrinkling.

“Okay, well, regret is a later emotion, and this is now. And now is a fun time.”

“That wine’s hitting you pretty hard, huh?”

“It is hitting me just the right amount,” she says, pouring herself more.

“Sure, if you say so.” He smiles. There’s a touch of sadness to it, but Rebecca’s still compelled to smile back.

“New topic of conversation,” she says. “We need one.”

“Usually conversations are things that happen organically. You don’t need to facilitate them,” he says with mock seriousness.

She scrunches up her face and repeats him scornfully. “No, there are no rules. I do what I want.”

“And you do it well.”

She tips her glass in his direction before taking another sip. “Okay, I got something.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you unstalkable on the internet?”

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “You know I can only take away one thing from that question.”

“What’s that?”

“That you tried to internet stalk me.”

“Of course I did,” Rebecca says, unashamed. “You’re telling me you never typed my name into Google?”

Nathaniel shrugs. “Okay, fine.”

She smirks to herself, but then fixes a stern look onto her face. “You’re sidestepping the question.”

He shakes his head. “You know, I always assumed you—someone who moves cross-country on a whim—would be better at stalking.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” she says, holding up her hand. “What are you implying? I’m great at stalking.”

“If that were the case, you wouldn’t be asking me about my internet presence. You would know.” He nods at the waiter, who sets down a second beer. “Also, I’m not entirely sure you should brag about that as one of your special skills.”

She waves the latter comment away. “Okay, I occasionally run into roadblocks and get frustrated and decide to give up in favor of masturbating or launching myself into a depression spiral by reading essays about the rise of modern-day Nazis. But I’m no amateur.”

“You sure about that?” he challenges.

“Alright, big guy. You’re clearly ramping up to something. Just spill.”

With a Cheshire cat smile, Nathaniel takes a sip of his beer and then leans over the table to whisper conspiratorially. “I use an alias for all my personal social media—an anagram of my name.”

“So all the search connected to your real name is safe for employers and coworkers. That’s clever,” Rebecca says.

“It’s not originally my idea, but I’ll take the compliment just the same.”

“Huh, no, now I take it back. No more compliment for you.”

Nathaniel places his hand over his heart. “That hurts.”

She purses her lips and nods. “Yeah it does.” Then she realizes how flirtatious alcohol makes her, and she leans back in her chair. “So are you going to tell me what this anagram is?”

He considers for a moment before shaking his head. “I think it’ll be more fun to see if you can figure it out.”

“You’ve got some deep dark secrets you’re trying to hide from me, huh?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, which, of course, only makes Rebecca’s curiosity burn brighter. “Guess that’s up to you to find out.”

###

A couple drinks and several hours later, and they’re definitely on the verge of being too sloppy in public.

“We really didn’t think this through,” Rebecca says. “We’re too drunk to drive back home.”

“ _We_?” Nathaniel scoffs. “Who came up with this dumb challenge? Who peer pressured me into drinking, what was it, ‘ten beers that taste like pine cones’?”

“I didn’t peer pressure you,” she says, slapping the table with the palm of her hand. She’s way too loud, and the patio is much more crowded now that the afternoon is giving way to evening. A couple turns their heads to glare. “I barely goaded.”

“I don’t know,” he says with a loose, goofy smile. “I felt pressured.”

Rebecca groans and lets her forehead drop down onto the table. “I feel sicky.”

“Must’ve been that second basket of chicken wings.”

She throws her hand across the table to smack him, but doesn’t come into contact with anything. “Did I ask for your opinion, Mr. Judgey Pants?”

He catches her by the wrist, his fingers warm and gentle. “Careful there. You almost stuck your hand in the candle.”

She sighs and twists her wrist. He lets go immediately, but before he can move too far away, she threads her fingers between his.

When she peeks up at him for under the disheveled mess of her hair, he’s staring at their joined hands, his lips parted and his eyes incredulous.

“Still gonna puke at any minute,” she reminds him.

“Right. We should see if there are any rooms available.”

Rebecca’s stomach jolts—half from the alcohol, half from the suggestion—and she pulls her hand away. “Good idea.”

They almost get lost trying to make it back to the lobby, despite the restaurant layout not being terribly complicated. Admittedly, it’s mostly her fault—she leans too heavily on Nathaniel, who’s not particularly stable to begin with, and gets distracted by the _Beaches_ movie poster on one of the walls.

By the time they make it to the front desk, she’s in the middle of a giggle attack.

“Good day, sir!” she says grandly, sweeping her hand in front of her as if showing herself off. “We’d like two of your most luxurious rooms!”

The desk clerk, a scrawny kid who can’t be older than 18, looks frightened.

“Why don’t you let me handle this,” Nathaniel says, easing her away from the counter with a guiding hand on her shoulder.

“And pay,” she says.

“And pay,” he confirms before turning to the worker. “Do you have any single rooms near each other?”

The kid does some typing. “I’m sorry, sir. There are only a handful of singles currently available. They’re all on different floors.”

He looks back at Rebecca. “It’s probably better that we’re in the same room anyway. I don’t want you die overnight, drowned in your own vomit.”

“Maybe that’s the way I wanna go,” she says. “With dignity.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response. “What’ve you got in the way of rooms for two?”

As the clerk goes back to searching, Rebecca slides up to Nathaniel and rests her head on his arm. She asks, her voice nasal and high-pitched, “Do we have a bed yet?”

“You’re like a small child, you know that?”

“A drunken child. A drunken adult-sized child.”

She can feel his laughter more than she can hear it, pressed up against him as she is, and smiles in response as her eyes drift closed.

“Ah, yes, here we are,” the clerk says then. “A room for two—no ocean view, but it’s got a nice king bed, stocked minibar, and full-screen television.”

“Is there anything else available? Like something with two beds?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Check-in was a couple hours ago, and we’re pretty close to capacity. People like to stay near the beach.”

“Rebecca?” Nathaniel asks.

“Hm? What? I’m totally awake!” She stands up straight and pushes the hair off her face.

“Yeah, I see that. We’ve got kind of a problem here: the only two-person room has one bed. What are your feelings on that?”

She feels her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline as she tries to focus enough to process. An image of her heart and her brain entering a wrestling ring to throw down flashes in her head.

“It’s totally fine,” she says, shrugging. “I mean, what else are we gonna do? Sleep in the sand?”

“That’s so weird,” Nathaniel says. “I can hear sober Rebecca in my head telling me that a yes given without the ability to give a safe ‘no’ isn’t proper consent.”

“Aww, you listened to my consent lecture?” she says, putting her hand over her heart. “That’s pretty hot, actually.”

“Yeah, this isn’t a good idea,” he says, but then turns to the boy running the front desk. “We’ll take it. But only because I’m pretty sure she’s going to pass out the second we get up to the room.”

After Nathaniel sorts out the payment and puts in a request for a wake-up call, they’re finally taking the elevator up to the room. The ride makes Rebecca queasy again, and the second they have the door open, she shuffles to the bed and falls face-first into the mattress. “I live here, and I’ll die here.”

“Great,” he says. “Do you think you can stay alive long enough for me to shower?”

“Ooh! A shower!” She sits up too fast and the whole room wobbles. Nathaniel kneels in front of her and grabs both her shoulders, trying to keep her steady.

“Are you okay?”

“I think so. But I have sand in my boobs.”

He laughs. “Sometimes you remind me of the world’s saddest ping pong ball.”

She winces. “No ping pong. I’m really bad at it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Nathaniel stands. “You can have the shower first. Try not to slip and kill yourself.”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve kept myself alive my whole life to date. I don’t need constant reminders. I can, like, do it without even thinking.”

“I’ve yet to see proof of that,” he says.

She mock laughs before standing and locking herself in the bathroom. It takes her a while to peel off her swimsuit, but once she finally does, she unceremoniously kicks it into the corner of the room.

The water pressure of the shower leaves something to be desired, but the warm spray does feel good. She uses the mini hotel bottle of shampoo and body wash to clean off, and then just stands under the spray until the last grain of sand disappears down the drain.

She feels faint and a little too hot by the time she turns off the water. Perched on the closed toilet, she halfheartedly dries herself with the too-short towels hanging on the rack. She’s zoned so far out that she actually shrieks when there’s a knock at the door.

“You’ve been quiet for a while,” Nathaniel says. “Should I be worried?”

“No, I’m almost done,” she says and then stands, about to get dressed. That’s when she remembers… “Wait, I don’t have anything to wear.”

“What was that?” he asks, apparently still outside the door.

“Do you, uh, have an extra change of clothes?”

She can hear the smile in his voice when he asks, “How do you feel about wearing some of my gym clothes?”

“Gross,” she says immediately, then takes a moment to think it over. “How recently did you sweat in them?”

“Everything in my bag is clean.”

“In that case, I have mixed feelings, but I’m definitely not above it.”

A pause. “Are you gonna open the door?”

“Do you have your eyes closed?”

“Yes.”

She drapes the towel over her chest, opens the door, grabs the clothes in Nathaniel’s outstretched hand, and quickly slams the door shut again.

“You’re welcome,” he says after a beat.

Rebecca ignores him, stepping into his mesh shorts before shaking out the t-shirt. A slow smile spreads on her face when she recognizes it from Saturday—the Stanford Law shirt. It strains a little around her chest but hangs loose everywhere else, and it smells strongly of Nathaniel.

His eyes go a little unfocused when she steps out of the bathroom, and her smile grows wider.

“Your turn,” she says to him.

He nods, grabbing some more clothes from the duffle bag at the end of the bed. “You should drink some water.”

Miraculously, she catches the bottle he throws at her. It’s warm—having presumably come from his car—but she sips it anyway.

By the time he finishes in the shower, she’s finished the bottle of water and has nestled under the comforter. _She’s All That_ is playing on the television, but Rebecca’s only kind of paying attention. If the room would just stay in one place, she could go to sleep.

When he walks around to the other side of the bed, she notices that he’s not wearing a shirt—only a worn pair of blue sweatpants. Though she got an eyeful earlier in the day, she can’t help but stare for a couple seconds too long.

He only folds back the top sheet and slides under it. For several minutes, the television is the only sound in the room.

“I figured you’d hate this movie,” Nathaniel says after a while.

“Why’s that?”

“Girl changes herself to get the guy…I figured that’s something you would have a feminist rant about.”

“Who says I don’t?”

“Well then why are you holding out on me, Bunch?”

She turns her head to look at him, trying to determine if he making fun of her, but the expression on his face is soft and adoring. She shivers, and tries to cover it with a yawn, which quickly turns real.

“Too tired,” she tells him honestly.

At that, he switches off the television. “We’re gonna have to get an early start tomorrow if we want to make it back to West Covina in time for work. We should both get some rest.”

“Here’s hoping we don’t wake up with hangovers,” Rebecca says, turning over in bed until she’s comfortable.

“In your dreams,” Nathaniel says playfully.

“Sweet dreams to you, too.”

His laughter is the last thing she hears before falling asleep.

###

She wakes with a start hours later, tugging at the neck of her shirt and panting heavily.

“Oh god,” she gasps, trying to remember how to breathe. She sits up, but it doesn’t help. “Oh god, oh god.”

“Rebecca?”

A soft light fills the room—a room she doesn’t recognize—and it gets harder to draw air into her lungs. She chants soundlessly to herself, “No, no. Don’t do this. Why are you doing this?”

“It was a dream. You’re okay now. It was just a dream.”

She allows herself to be pulled against her comforter’s chest. Their large hand smooths her hair away from her face and continues to murmur softly that she’s going to be okay.

The smell is what finally helps ground her—Nathaniel, she’s with Nathaniel. And they went to the beach. And they’re at a hotel.

Her head pounds, and, even with these memories suddenly rushing back to her, the dream still feels too close. Black spots bloom in her vision as her desperate gasping gets faster, more pained.

“Rebecca, can you hear me? Nod if you can.”

She does, bobbing her head so hard, it knocks against his chin.

“I want you to try matching your breaths to mine, okay?”

Another nod.

“Great. Inhale.” She feels his chest rise. “Exhale.”

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity to Rebecca before she’s even close to matching him breath for breath. He’s incredibly patient though, talking her through each breath until the spinning in her head stops.

“How do you feel?” he asks when she’s finally settled enough to speak.

Or so it would seem. The second he asks the question, she bursts into tears.

Again, she notices his patience. Nathaniel holds her for a while, just letting her cry and cry. She almost works herself up into another panic when he slides out from under her.

“I’m going to see if there are any tissues in the bathroom,” he explains. She nods.

He returns with a toilet paper roll instead, ripping off a long piece before setting the rest on the nightstand.

She tries to mitigate the amount of snot collecting on her face, but the more she wipes at her nose, the messier her face gets. It certainly doesn’t help that she’s still crying.

He brings the trash bin from the bathroom over to her, and she grabs another strip of the toilet paper.

Once her tears have slowed to a trickle, Nathaniel climbs back in bed. Rebecca scoots away from him, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment, but he grazes her arm with the back of his hand—compelling her to stop where she is, her shoulders relaxing—and softly asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She pulls her legs into her chest and wraps her arms around them. “You’ve already done a lot. You should just go back to sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” he says, but his eyelids are droopy and she knows it’s a lie. Still, he’s watching her—trying his hardest to give her rapt attention—and maybe it’s because she’s lacking for sleep and this experience is kind of surreal to begin with, but she finds herself _wanting_ to talk about it for the first time since….

“I visited Josh at the seminary,” she says, burying her face into her knees so she doesn’t have to watch Nathaniel’s kind and accepting expression slowly morph into one of disgust.

“Okay. When?”

“It was about a month after, well, you know. Paula and I were in the middle of trying to make him miserable, coming up with different schemes to ruin his life. That kind of thing.”

“I remember I couldn’t get you guys to do your job for a solid week and a half.”

“Yup, that was around the same time,” she confirms. “But I got bored or lonely or…I don’t know. I just wanted to see him and so I called off work—made up some illness or another—and I went.”

“What happened?” Nathaniel asks, and his voice is still so gentle.

Rebecca tries to collapse in on herself. “We talked.”

A long time passes before he asks, “Is that the end of the story?”

She lifts her head and wipes the renewed gush of tears from her cheeks. “No, I just…. It wasn’t a pleasant conversation.”

His hand is on her back, then, rubbing calming circles between her shoulder blades. “We’ve got all night.”

“He was so _happy_ ,” Rebecca says, her voice cracking on the word happy. “Happier than I’d ever seen him. And he was so honest, too. Just, brutally fucking honest about why he proposed to me and what our relationship meant to him.”

“It wasn’t the same as what it meant to you,” Nathaniel says, and there’s a hint of regret to his voice. “I get it.”

“He had done so much self-reflection, and he’d found where he truly belonged. He got his chance to apologize and absolve himself in the eyes of God. And you know what I got? I got to see how _not serious_ he was about marrying me because now I know what Josh Chan looks like when he’s fully committed to something.”

Nathaniel scoots further up the headboard, and when he speaks, it’s almost directly in her ear. “He never deserved you, Rebecca. Don’t you see what an idiot that guy is?”

She scoffs, feeling too hot all of a sudden—like a ball of fire is burning her up from the inside out—and snaps, “This is not about him!”

“Oh…okay.” His hand disappears from her back, and she’s both grateful and disappointed.

“I _knew_ ,” she says around clenched teeth. “I knew, deep down, that I wasn’t gonna get what I wanted out of Josh. There was something missing when we finally got together. I mean, do you really think I go around kissing other guys when I’m in a committed relationship? I kissed you because there was more of a connection between us than there ever was between me and Josh. I reached out and I grabbed that fucking flame and, surprise, I got burned. Because I’m a stupid, unlovable, self-sabotaging idiot who doesn’t deserve anyone in her life!”

“That’s not—”

“No! No arguing. I already don’t believe what you have to say.”

They sit in silence for a while. Long enough for the anger to be snuffed out of Rebecca as quickly as it’d been ignited.

She deflates, melting down into the bed.

“Are you okay?” Nathaniel whispers, almost like he’s afraid she’ll snap at him again if he speaks at full volume.

“No,” Rebecca says honestly. “But I’m tired. Can we please go back to bed?”

“Sure,” he agrees easily, waiting for her to get settled before he turns the light off.

She stares into the darkness, reliving her conversation with Josh again and again as her eyes adjust.

She doesn’t even realize she’s crying again until Nathaniel’s pulling her into him. “C’mere.”

There’s no use resisting. She curls into his side, resting her face on his bare chest, and lets him tuck her close with an arm draped over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she whispers. She leaves the _I’m sorry_ unspoken, though. She just can’t bring herself to say it.

She falls asleep waiting for him to reply.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word Count:** 10,000+  
>  **Author's Note:** As usual, a huge thanks goes out to Bethany. It fills me with pride that you were amused by practically every line I wrote for Heather, and I love you.  
>  What can I say? It's finished and I couldn't wait.  
> I'm so touched by all the people who took the time to comment and leave kudos. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.  
> Here is the second half of the playlist I listened to on loop while writing this story:
> 
>   * Kettering - The Antlers
>   * Edge of Desire - John Mayer
>   * Kiss Me - Ed Sheeran
>   * Whistle for the Choir - The Fratellis
> 

> 
> Season 3 is just over 24 hours away and I'm freaking out!! Come say hi on [tumblr](http://catty-words.tumblr.com/) if you're as obsessed with this show as I am or if you really like this story/pairing and wanna be friends.

The first thing Nathaniel notices when he wakes up is the pounding in his head.

The second is that his eyes are so tender, it hurts to blink. Thankfully, the room is filled with a muted gray light that’s far from harsh, but he still feels an ache when he’s finally able to lift his sleep-heavy lids.

The sun doesn’t seem to have risen yet, so he resolves to rest his eyes for a few more minutes.

Rebecca shifts then, stretching, and her back arches against his stomach. The sensation sends a jolt from his heart down to the soles of his feet, waking him right up.

Her body relaxes again and she burrows further into the covers, pressing firmly into him.

After a second of holding perfectly still, Nathaniel lifts his head to look at her. Though her hair is splayed across her face, he can see clearly that all of the anguish from the night before is gone—the gaping chasm in her heart hidden in sleep. His throat aches as he recalls her story, the things she’d said about herself.

With a sigh, he lets his head fall back against the pillow, tucking his face into the crook of her shoulder and tightening his hold around her middle. He’d almost told her last night—that he loves her…that he falls a little more in love with her every time they hang out. But the timing wasn’t right, for either of them.

He takes a deep breath, holding her in his lungs for several, long moments before slowly exhaling.

“That tickles,” Rebecca says, her voice thick and slow.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” he says, pulling back a little.

She runs her fingertips along his arm. “So sniffing me is only weird when I’m awake?”

He feels himself blush and takes a second to be grateful that she can’t see his face. After swallowing hard, he says, “I’m too hungover to do this with you.”

Rebecca groans. “Tell me about it. I feel like my body was run over by three different semi-trucks.”

“One of us has to drive back to West Covina.”

She scoffs. “You say that like you don’t already know it’s gonna be you.”

“You might show some compassion and at least offer. This is your fault, after all.”

She shifts onto her back so she can glare at him. “Whose idea was it to take a trip to the beach again?”

They’re face to face now—if he tilts his head even a little, the tips of their noses would brush—and want pools in the pit of his stomach. His eyes drop to her lips, which part under his stare.

Every physical signal she’s giving him, from the way she shifts just a little closer to the way she catches her bottom lip with her teeth, is telling him he could kiss her now.

But it’s way too important to him that she ask…that she want it as much as he does. To put a bit of space between them, he pushes himself up onto his elbow.

“Well?” she asks, and he’s not sure if she’s picking up the thread of their teasing or prodding him to kiss her.

He doesn’t get the chance to ask. The room phone rings—their wake-up call. Nathaniel rolls away from Rebecca to the other side of the bed to pick up. “Hello?”

“Good morning, sir! This is Ann from the front desk with your five o’clock wake-up call, and a reminder that breakfast is being served until nine-thirty.”

“Thanks,” he says before hanging up.

“No,” Rebecca whines, taking one of the pillows and dropping it over her face. “I don’t wanna go. Five more minutes.”

“We can’t miss another day of work,” he says, getting reluctantly out of the bed. His head throbs when he stands, and it takes him a second to get his bearings. “I have a lot to get done.”

“Great. You go to work, and I’ll stay here for a day. Maybe two!”

“Rebecca,” he says, using the best approximation of his ‘stern boss’ voice. The fact that he even _sounds_ hungover doesn’t help his attempt to be authoritative. “Come on. You have a three-hour car ride you can sleep through.”

She launches the pillow at him, and it hits him in the gut with a soft _thud_. “You’re driving, no takebacks!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders, not for the first time, why he’s so charmed by her, even when she’s like this.

She laughs at him, a giggle building into a full-blown cackle, and he can’t help himself. He laughs along.

###

The workday, as expected, drags.

By noon, Nathaniel’s only managed to have a single bottle of Gatorade as sustenance and complete less than a third of the work he’d need to in order to get back on schedule. Barely 30 percent of his brain capacity is focused on actually doing his job, after all. The other 70 is dedicated to the screaming pain all over his body.

“Hey, big guy.” Darryl knocks on the door to his office but doesn’t wait to be invited in. “Maya and I stopped by So-Cal Smoothies after lunch, and I know how much you like their Lean Green Protein Machine so I picked one up for you.”

“That’s sweet, Darryl.” Even though he means it, he’s too tired to sound sincere. He rubs at his forehead and reaches for the cup. “Thanks.”

Darryl pulls back before he can grab it, though. “What’s up with you today, huh? You seem a little distracted. Did something go wrong with that big case you and Rebecca were working on?”

Nathaniel’s brow furrows, and he remembers his cover story a beat too late.

“Rebecca’s pretty hungover, too,” Darryl says, and there’s not even a hint of accusation in his voice. He hands over the smoothie, sits in one of the chairs, and smiles patiently. “What’s going on there?”

“Darryl, I’d love to join your ensemble of Pick a Little, Talk a Little ladies, but I have a lot to be doing.”

“My what?”

Nathaniel winces and says, “It’s a _Music Man_ reference.”

Darryl’s eyes go wide. “So you and Rebecca _are_ together. Oh, I knew it! Or I suspected, anyway. You’ve been weirdly pleasant since the two of you started hanging out more.”

“Hey!”

Unfazed by Nathaniel’s protest, Darryl puts a hand over his heart. “Love is great like that, isn’t it? It makes everything better.”

“I’m not in love with Rebecca!” Nathaniel says, too loud and panicky.

Darryl blinks, taken aback. But he’s clearly not too surprised because he continues to read Nathaniel like an open book. “She doesn’t know how you feel, does she?”

Nathaniel turns back to his prep for the monthly budget meeting, trying to silently put an end to the conversation.

Apparently something in his expression is confirmation enough, though. Darryl leans into the desk. “Well are you gonna tell her?”

“Darryl,” Nathaniel says, his patience slipping as his headache worsens. “Thank you for the smoothie. That was very thoughtful. But don’t you have some work you could be doing in _your_ office?”

Though he tries to cover it with a genial smile, Darryl looks hurt. He gets up and starts for the door.

Nathaniel squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will away the guilt. He really does need to find some focus and finish _something_ before the end of the day. And yet…

“Darryl, wait. Can I ask you a question that’s a little offensive?”

Curious, Darryl turns back toward Nathaniel. “Offensive on purpose or offensive as a byproduct of the nature of the question?”

“Offensive as a byproduct.”

“Oh, well then sure!” He walks back to the desk and sits. “What’s on your mind?”

Nathaniel takes a deep breath. “How do you handle coming second in all your relationships?”

Darryl’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he hums thoughtfully. “You’re right, that is kinda offensive.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ve just never heard it put so plainly.”

Nathaniel nods and waits. When Darryl doesn’t answer for several moments, he says, “Well?”

Darryl frowns. “I guess the answer is I don’t. Handle it well, that is. Or I haven’t in the past. It’s never fun to feel like you care more about people than they care about you.”

“Great,” Nathaniel says, resting his elbows on his desk and rubbing at his temples. “Well thanks anyway.”

“Hey now, there’s no need to sound so defeated. You want my advice?”

“I really do,” Nathaniel says, realizing it’s true.

“Relationships are all about give and take, it’s true, but you’re never gonna be perfectly matched, tit for tat. So the best thing you can do for yourself is to stop keeping score; just accept that sometimes you gotta be there for someone who can’t be there for you. The trick is knowing when to draw the line, though. You have to be able to recognize when a relationship becomes so one-sided that it’s bad for your health.”

Nathaniel takes a second to let that sink in. “That’s really good advice.”

Darryl grins. “It is, isn’t it?”

Nathaniel smiles back. “I appreciate it.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Darryl says, standing. “Enjoy your smoothie.”

Nathaniel raises the cup at him as he closes the office door behind him. After a second of consideration, he turns to his computer and opens his email, typing Rebecca’s address into a new message.

Subject: My Place Tonight?

_I’ve got a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, a panini press, and some gourmet cheese I’ve been saving for a special occasion. What would you say to some hangover grilled cheese and a She’s All That lecture?_

He reads it over before hitting send.

Only a couple minutes pass before her response shows up in his inbox.

_Come on, dude. You don’t have to keep doing this._

His brow furrows.

Nathaniel: _Doing what?_

Rebecca: _Pretending that you still want to hang out with me. Between the puking and the snotting, I’m sure you’re sick of all this. Just give it a rest._

Nathaniel reads her latest reply several times, the ache in his throat getting worse with every pass. He types a couple different replies before settling on:

_Have I given you the impression at any point that my friendship is conditional?_

He can practically hear the petulance in her reply.

Rebecca: _…No._

Nathaniel: _Alright then. Are we on for tonight or not?_

Rebecca: _Fine. But only because gourmet grilled cheese sounds amazing._

He feels a smile spread wide on his face.

_Your motives are noted._

She sends back the emoji with the tongue sticking out.

###

“What is it with dudes and stainless steel?” Rebecca asks as she walks around Nathaniel’s condo for the first time. He hadn’t realized till she texted him earlier in the evening asking for his address that he’s never invited her over before. “Is it the cold, industrial vibe they like? Does it make you guys feel manlier? Because you’d think wood would have the same effect, what with the penis associations.”

Nathaniel lets the refrigerator close with a _clang_ , his hands full of cheese blocks and the carton of tomato basil soup he’d picked up from Whole Foods on the way home. “I refuse to feel shamed for my choice of décor by the woman who lives in a renovated crack house.”

“It was a _meth_ house, thank you very much. Those drug dealers were killed in a _meth_ explosion.”

“I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a point in your favor?”

Rebecca climbs onto one of the barstools at the kitchen counter and pulls the loaf of sourdough close to her. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to be snarky, you should at least be accurate.”

He glares for a moment before handing her a bread knife.

Though he was worried that things might have changed after their intense night together—that she might try to pull away or he might slip up and blurt something that would _drive_ her away—things have been surprisingly normal.

Being with Rebecca is way too easy for Nathaniel, he’s coming to realize. He’s not sure what it is about her, but she always dulls the part of his brain that tends to overthink, the part of his brain that’s obsessed with control. There’s something freeing about her total lack of filter…her willingness to look a little silly.

It makes him feel loose, light. It makes him happy.

_She_ makes him happy.

His teasing glare relaxes into a grin, and he has to duck his head.

But that doesn’t stop him from catching her responding smile.

They work in silence for a couple minutes, Rebecca slicing bread and Nathaniel cutting up the cheese.

“Whoa there,” he says, noticing her slices. “Thick bread won’t get crispy in the press. Why don’t you ease up a little on the carbs?”

She looks him right in the eye and cuts an extra chunky piece. He resists the urge to tell her that she needs to watch her thumbs.

“Maybe I like soggy, carb-heavy sandwiches,” she says.

He about to make a comment about how apparent that is, but then his mind flashes back to that morning—she’d been so soft pressed up against him, had fit so perfectly into the curve of his arm—and his snipe dies on his tongue.

Realizing he’s staring, Nathaniel clears his throat and focuses back on the cheese. “Well not all of us want a grilled cheese that’s eighty percent bread,” he says. “Cut a couple thinner slices for me, please.”

“I’m surprised you’re even eating bread. Doesn’t that go against everything you stand for?”

“I have no qualms with breaking a couple rules for a hangover,” he says, starting to assemble sandwiches.

“Oh, speaking of which, where’s that Tylenol you promised?” Rebecca asks.

“One sec,” Nathaniel says, and sets a couple of the sandwiches on the panini press before running to the bathroom to retrieve the bottle of pills. He slides them across the island to her when he gets back, and then retrieves a glass and pours her some water.

He dumps the soup into a small pot, setting it to simmer, before turning his attention back to the grilled cheese.

“You know,” she says, and he can feel her eyes on him as he prods at her too-thick bread with a turner. “This whole domestic-fantasy thing you got going is kinda working.”

He raises his eyebrows, willing the goofy smile off his face. “Oh yeah?”

She doesn’t even bother with subtlety as she looks him up and down. Nathaniel feels his heart jump into his throat when she licks her lips.

“I think so, yeah.”

The rational part of his brain screams at him to remember that she’s clearly conflicted and not in the greatest headspace, but it’s not enough to kill the burst of hope that flares in his chest.

He sets the turner down on a paper towel and leans across the counter. Instead of pulling away, she rests her elbows on the edge of the island, locks her fingers together, and rests her chin on them, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe later…” he says, his voice low.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll wash all the dishes.”

She scoffs and sits back in her chair. “Well now you’re just trying too hard.”

He hums. “That was pushing it, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He snaps his fingers playfully to cover for the very real disappointment sitting like a lead ball in his stomach.

###

“You wanna know what I did at work today?” Rebecca asks, picking at Nathaniel’s long-cold grilled-cheese scraps. The television’s on, but neither of them are paying close attention to it.

“Was it your job?” he asks pointedly.

She pokes him in the thigh with her toes. “We should make it a rule that you can’t be all disappointed and boss-like when we’re outside work. That way there’re, you know, some healthy boundaries.”

“Oh, yes, please. Let’s set some boundaries.”

“You can have your turn to suggest things in a minute,” she says. “But I really think that for the good of our friendship, you should just accept that I only focus on my job twenty percent of the time and am still freaking amazing at it.”

He lets a deep breath out through his nose. “Am I allowed to use the things you tell me when we’re not at work against you when we are?”

“I encourage you to try,” Rebecca says.

Nathaniel can’t help his amused chuckle. “Fine, it’s a deal.”

“Great! So, wanna know what I did at work today?”

“Sure.”

“I came up with a list of potential Facebook anagrams,” she says, grabbing her phone off the coffee table when she sets down the plate.

“This ought to be good,” he says, muting the television and shifting in his seat to face her.

“Okay, okay…Nathaniel Plimpton anagrams. I didn’t know if I could use ‘the third’ as, like, three extra ‘I’s or if it’d count as T-H-I-R-D, so I just didn’t bother.”

“Smart.”

“Here’s what I got: Tamale Ninth Poplin.”

“What? No.”

“Antenna Hilltop Imp?”

“Are all these just three random words smashed together?”

“No,” she says defensively. “Well, maybe—what about Plantation Hen Limp or Llama Then Pinpoint?”

“These would all be way more conspicuous than if I just used my name,” he says, enjoying the way her mouth gets all scrunched up and tight when she’s pouting.

“Okay, fine…a real name.” She squints at her list for several minutes before guessing, “Hamlet Plaint Pinon?”

“You need to go back to the drawing board, Bunch,” he tells her.

She huffs. “Fine. Can I at least get a hint to work with?”

He considers that for a moment, and she clasps her hands together under her chin and gives him puppy-dog eyes.

“Aw, come on,” he says. “That’s just…do you have even a shred of dignity left?”

“Not a one,” she says in her high-pitched, baby voice.

“Fine, I’ll give you a hint if you promise to never make that noise again.”

“Is that your chosen boundary? You only get one!”

He shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable. That’s not a rule.”

“Gotta act quick or the offer expires, Mr. Grumpypants,” she says, using the voice again. She gets up onto her knees so she can poke him in the chest.

He groans and covers his ears. “God, make it stop.”

She leans over him, grabbing onto both his wrists and prying his hands away from his head. Except she moves forward too quick and her center of gravity is thrown off. She ends up falling onto him, splayed sideways in his lap.

He feels one excited heartbeat pulse through his entire body when her head snaps up and their noses bump.

She lets out a nervous giggle. “Oops.”

He draws in a deep breath through parted lips, and her eyes slip from his eyes for just a second. When she looks back up, her pupils are wide, and he feels a moment of vindication. She teases and she’s not sure what she wants, but at the end of the day, she’s just as affected by him as he is by her.

Her fingers tighten around his wrists. “So…”

He hums in response, not really trusting his voice.

“How about that hint?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head slowly from side to side, his nose brushing hers with every pass. “No way is that going to work.”

“It totally is though,” she says, her voice husky. He can _hear_ her self-satisfied smirk.

And, dammit, she’s right. Though he tries to fight against it, he finds himself saying, “Fine. I’ll give you a hint.”

“Thank you,” she says, voice cheery and bright again. She moves off his lap, but doesn’t slide back to the other end of the couch.

He takes a deep breath once she’s gone, trying to clear the fog in his brain enough to come up with something good.

“Your instinct to shorten my name was a good one,” he says finally.

She nods, turning that over in her head. “Okay…got it. Yeah, I’m gonna be learning all your secrets in no time.”

“I have no doubt.”

###

Later that night, after Rebecca’s gone and the kitchen is clean, Nathaniel slides into bed. Immediately, he gets the sense that something’s missing. One night sharing a bed with someone else, and suddenly sleeping alone has lost all its appeal.

His body is definitely weighed down with fatigue, though. Despite how empty the bed feels, he’s certain he’ll be asleep within seconds.

Except forty minutes go by and he’s still staring at the ceiling of his dark room, unable to turn off his thoughts.

With a resigned sigh, Nathaniel grabs his phone off the nightstand and unplugs the charger. He logs onto his personal Facebook—Tim Planpton—and scrolls back through his photos until he’s looking at the stuff from his senior year of college.

He stops when he gets to a picture of him and Sarah Grace in his room at the off-campus house he’d rented with a handful of other pre-law guys. He remembers the day pretty clearly because hours after the photo was taken, he’d found out she’d been planning to leave the country to do mission work in Africa and had wanted to break up with him.

Sarah Grace…they’d met as freshmen during the awkward welcome-weekend activities, but they hadn’t started dating until about a year later. There was no special story to how they got together, and no real tragedy to their breakup.

But he’d loved her. In a lot of ways, she was his first love…the first person he’d opened up to about his childhood and his relationship with his father. She knew him better than anyone who’d come before, and probably anyone who’d met him since—if only because he’d let her know him.

Yet she left him. If he spends even a minute reflecting on his life, he can see how the sting of that fall kept him from fully getting back onto the bicycle.

Nathaniel closes his eyes for a second, overwhelmed by the nostalgia. He’s about to put the phone away and make another attempt at sleeping when it vibrates in his hand.

It’s a text from Rebecca: _I feel like I owe you an apology._

He checks the time—it’s almost midnight—and considers not answering for a minute. But then he types back: _What for?_

Rebecca: _For being the world’s meanest ping pong ball_.

The message is accompanied by the ping pong paddle emoji, and Nathaniel laughs quietly to himself.

Nathaniel: _I understand. You don’t have to apologize._

Rebecca: _You really shouldn’t let me off the hook. I was kinda awful to you tonight._

He frowns and is about to start a reply when the bubble pops up, letting him know that she’s still typing. He almost falls asleep waiting for her second message.

Rebecca: _I do this thing where I don’t really consider how my actions affect other people, you know? Plus, I only have two modes. Either I run with every emotion and impulse I have, feeling everything all the time no matter the cost. Or I turn into a ball of emotionless depression. I haven’t really figured out how to be something in between, and I think I kinda hurt your feelings tonight. And even if I didn’t mean to and even if you’re not gonna hold it against me, I still have to say sorry. So…I’m sorry._

He reads her message over several times. Immediately, he knows what he wants to say, but he chews on his bottom lip, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

The image of Sarah Grace nags at him…maybe it’s time to stop letting his past have so much say in how he acts in the present.

He starts typing.

Nathaniel: _You know, I was just thinking earlier today that the way you run with every emotion is one of the things I like most about you._

She doesn’t respond for a long enough time that he starts to panic. Agitated, he spins his phone in his hand, faster and faster until watching it makes him feel sick.

Finally, when he’s about to turn off his phone so he doesn’t have to think about the awful message anymore, she texts back.

Rebecca: _Seriously?_

Again, he hesitates before typing out his reply, but only for a second.

Nathaniel: _Cross my heart, etc._

Rebecca: _I don’t really know what to say to that, but I’m definitely taking a screen grab of that message so I don’t lose it._

He breathes a sigh of relief, feeling a warmth radiate out from his chest.

Nathaniel: _You’re a dork._

Nathaniel: _But a cute dork._

Rebecca: _I can work with that. Good night,_ _Antenna Hilltop Imp._

Nathaniel: _Sweet dreams, Cab Bee Crunch_.

###

“And, final point of order, _someone_ bought an office chinchilla cage with company money—and I can’t believe I have to say this at an actual meeting full of adult professionals—but that cannot happen again.”

“Why are you all looking at me?” Karen asks.

Nathaniel decides glaring is the only appropriate answer.

“We’ve been issued a full refund for returning it,” she adds, as if that makes it better somehow.

“Now that that’s settled, this meeting is adjourned.”

Nathaniel’s head snaps around at the sound of his father’s voice. His displeasure is immediately apparent; Nathaniel can see it in the set of his jaw and the glint in his eyes.

His visceral reaction to that disappointment is heady, and he finds himself frozen in his seat, heartrate escalating.

“If you could all clear the room,” his dad says. “I need to speak with my son.”

Something knocks into Nathaniel’s ankle under the table. He twitches, but doesn’t turn until it happens a second time.

Rebecca’s staring at him. There’s a question in her wide, concerned eyes, but he can’t think over the sound of his pulse roaring in his ears long enough to process. He just nods at her, hoping that’s enough.

Except apparently it’s not because, as everyone else does the smart thing and files out of the conference room, she pops out of her seat and extends her hand.

“Hello, sir! My name’s Rebecca Bunch, I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about me.”

His dad simply stares at her, anger steadily mounting. Though Rebecca seems totally oblivious to that fact.

“Los Angeles Water Conspiracy? My work in New York with Sampson & Saunders? Really…nothing?”

“Young lady,” Nathaniel Senior says, the tone of his voice making Nathaniel flinch, “I’m trying to have a discussion with my son. Please see yourself out.”

“Okay, I will leave,” she says, “but I want it noted that adding ‘please’ to the beginning of a sentence doesn’t automatically make it polite.” She grabs her portfolio and starts for the door with a pointed toss of her curls.

“Pop!” Nathaniel finally finds his voice. Unfortunately, it cracks under the strain of his nerves.

“You know,” his father says, launching into a variation of a speech that feels all too familiar. “I’d feared it’d come to this from the moment you pitched the Whitefeather experiment. It’d been obvious to me that you weren’t ready to go out on your own. But you had taken the initiative and tracked this sorry excuse for a law firm down, so I figured you’d earned a chance to at least try.”

“What’s this in—” Nathaniel starts, but his dad cuts him off with a sharp stare. He ducks his head.

“Now I see that I should have trusted my instincts,” Nathaniel Senior continues. “We’ve clearly jeopardized the good Plimpton name by attaching it to this rodeo. Chinchilla cages…employees taking entire weeks off without notice… _late reports_.”

Nathaniel winces, realizing quite a bit too late that between all the Rebecca drama and his hangover, he’d neglected to respond to his dad’s request for revised January client reports.

He doesn’t get to be horrified about that for too long, though, because Rebecca’s voice comes from the back of the conference room and he has a new direction for his dread.

“If I could just interject…”

“What are you still doing here?” Nathaniel Senior asks, not even bothering to hide the fact that he’s annoyed.

Rebecca walks back down the length of the table, unperturbed, and asks, “Have you looked at the numbers lately? Because this firm is actually one-hundred and fifty percent more efficient than it was before Nathaniel took over operations, and I can present you with months’ worth of evidence. I mean, I don’t have it on my person, but it’s all there when you run the numbers.”

Nathaniel recognizes her I’m-About-to-Rock-Your-World lawyer voice and almost interrupts to tell her it’s not worth it. But his father falters, and she’s off and running again.

“Based on your slack jaw, I’m going to deduce that you haven’t actually been tracking the success of this firm, which leads me to believe your actual problem lies elsewhere.”

Nathaniel Senior recovers his composure and says, “You are out of line, young lady.”

“No more out of line than you were to undermine Nathaniel’s authority in front of his employees to air an unfounded concern.”

His dad crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you quite done?”

Rebecca juts out her chin. “No, actually. If you’ll indulge me in a personal testimonial, I have to say: this man is an excellent boss. He’s a real natural-born leader with a perfect sense for when to lay down the law and when to dole out those positive reinforcements. He has worked wonders here, and you should be proud of what he’s accomplished.”

“Rebecca.” Nathaniel raises his eyebrows at her and she gives him a hint of a smile in response, clearly pleased with herself. “That’s enough…thank you.”

“You got it, boss!”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I have a lunch meeting with an old friend in twenty minutes,” his father says, “but we will discuss this further at a later date. And I will want to see your so-called irrefutable evidence, Miss Bunch.”

“Not a problem, sir. I’ll email you the graphs this afternoon.”

Nathaniel Senior looks Rebecca up and down, not quite sure what to make of her. “…That’d be fine.”

“Have a nice lunch, Pop,” Nathaniel says as his dad heads for the door.

The lack of response tells him everything he needs to know. He curls his hands into fists in his lap, his cold fingertips pressing into his clammy palms.

“Wow, that man is intense,” Rebecca says, flopping down into her usual chair on Nathaniel’s left. “I would say I can’t believe he drove an hour to yell at you, but my mom once took a trip from Scarsdale to Cambridge because she heard I’d skipped a couple weeks of classes. The fact that she got to guilt trip me about that _and_ being depressed made it worth it, apparently.”

His pulse is too loud in his ears again, and he watches his own knuckles go white as he squeezes his hands into tighter fists.

“You’re turning really pale, dude. Can I…um. Like, is there anything you need?”

It shouldn’t surprise him that his dad’s been expecting him to fail this entire time. It shouldn’t surprise him that he’s not doing _enough_.

And yet…

“It’s weird,” Rebecca says, and even though he’s only catching half of her words, there’s a certain comfort to the fact that she keeps rambling on. “I always thought I’d be better at this. That kids with bad parents could somehow just _get_ what’s needed when things suck. Because—has this been your experience, too? People so often don’t say even remotely the right thing when I need them to. Like, they’re always supportive when I need them to be angry and they’re always dismissive when I could really use support.”

_Support_.

He lifts his head to watch her. He’s not sure yet whether she made things better or worse, but Rebecca really went to bat for him.

He unclenches his fists a little and some feeling returns to his fingers.

“I guess the lesson is you can never really understand someone’s relationship with their parents. It’s always complicated, and so you can’t expect people to be able to comfort you the way you need because it’s hard to even know what you need in the first place, right?”

“I love you.”

It comes out almost as an aside…almost like the words belong to someone else.

Rebecca freezes, and Nathaniel blinks.

“What?”

He swallows hard. Though he considers making up some wild cover for a moment, nothing comes to mind. Besides, it’s the truth. Why hide it?

“I love you,” he says again, louder and with more certainty.

Rebecca’s eyes are boring into his, wide and hard to read. She’s not blinking, but what her eyelids lack in motion, her eyebrows are making up for it tenfold. They can’t seem to decide if they want to furrow or rise to her hairline, so they just end up twitching wildly.

“Rebecca? Are you okay?”

“I have to go.”

He cocks his head.

“Yeah, I, um…I have to go.”

And with that, she stands and bolts from the room.

###

Nathaniel takes a deep breath before getting out of his car. He sends a text to Rebecca while he’s walking to the front door: _Can you meet me outside, please?_

He waits, hands shoved deep into his suit pockets, for the longest five minutes of his life before the door opens.

She’s wearing his t-shirt and some patterned pajama pants. He tries to hold it back—it doesn’t feel appropriate to be giddy right now—but a pleased grin blooms on his face anyway. She looks a little like she’s seen a ghost, but she still smiles back.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he starts. “In fact, it’s probably better that you don’t.”

She nods, clearly content to let him take the lead.

“I’m sorry that I put you on the spot earlier today, but I’m not going to apologize for what I said. I meant it.” Color pools in her cheeks, then, and Nathaniel has to resist the urge to reach out for her. He takes a deep breath and keeps going. “So here’s how I think we move forward: tomorrow, my challenge expires. I’d like to take you on a date—my last official attempt at wooing you. But you shouldn’t respond right now. Take a while, think it over. If you decide you don’t want to go, I’ll concede and that’ll be that.”

Again, Rebecca nods in acknowledgement.

“I know this doesn’t give you a lot of time to sort out how you feel, but I need you to let me know how you’re leaning by the end of the work day tomorrow. Is that alright?”

She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes searching his face. He’s not sure what she finds there, but whatever it is, it makes the corners of her mouth tick upward in an almost-smile.

“It’s a deal.”

###

“Let’s do it,” Rebecca says, bursting into his office just after three o’clock the next afternoon. “Let’s go on a date.”

Nathaniel sinks back into his chair and smiles, letting the relief wash over him. “Great. I’ll pick you up at six.”

She stands in front of his desk for several moments. He can feel her eyes on him, but he pretends to be focused on work.

“That’s it?” she asks finally. “You’re not going to give me any more information than that?”

He turns away from his computer and raises his eyebrows. “Dress nice.”

“Is it too late to change my answer?”

“Most definitely. You’re stuck with me for the evening.”

She continues to linger, in full-on pout mode. “Come on! Give me something to work with!”

He shakes his head. “It’s a surprise. But I’m certain you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“Don’t be so sure. You don’t know everything about me, you know.”

“I know enough to guarantee you’ll enjoy what I have planned for tonight.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t you trust me?”

The question catches her off guard, and her arms drop to her sides. Emotions flicker across her face too quickly for Nathaniel to keep up, and then she’s frowning at him. “Fine, I guess I’ll see you at six.”

He laughs to himself as she storms from the office.

###

“If you’re here to beg for hints about what’s happening tonight on Rebecca’s behalf, you can turn right around,” Nathaniel says when Paula pops her head into his office a half hour later.

Paula practically cackles as she steps into the room. “Oh, honey. It’s sweet that you think I don’t already know where you’re taking her.”

His brow furrows and he sets his pen down. “What?”

She breezes onward, ignoring him. “No, I came in here to state, for the record, that if you do anything to hurt Rebecca, I will destroy you.”

She holds his eyes for an uncomfortably long amount of time, until Nathaniel nods. “Understood.”

“Great! Now that that’s clear, have fun on your date!”

He shakes his head as she turns for the door. Though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he definitely feels a pang of fear.

“Nathaniel?” she says, catching the door before it falls closed behind her.

“Yes?”

“I’m hoping tonight goes well.”

He gives her a surprised smile. “Thanks. I am too.”

###

Valencia’s the one to answer the door when Nathaniel gets to Rebecca’s place that evening. She gives him the once-over and then lets the door fall open as she walks back inside. “Someone sure dressed to impress.”

He’s not sure what to say, so he just smooths down the collar of his cornflower blue button-down before following her.

Valencia settles back on the couch. Heather’s there, too, nestled under a pile of blankets. She holds a bowl of popcorn out to Valencia as she sits.

“So, I heard you dropped the L-bomb in the middle of the day while you were at work,” Heather says, nodding to Nathaniel in greeting. “Gotta respect that inner drama queen.”

“Um, thank you?” he says, glancing down the hall toward Rebecca’s room, but he can’t see anything from where he’s standing.

“She’ll be ready soon,” Valencia says, noticing his preoccupation. “Why don’t you have a seat in the meantime?”

Her tone makes it clear that it’s not a suggestion, and Heather pauses the movie they’re watching.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to take your only daughter to the prom?” he asks.

Valencia ignores him. “I don’t think I need to remind you that Rebecca’s in a really delicate place after her engagement imploded, but I will anyway. I know you guys have some weird little battle going on, but if you do anything to pressure her or make her feel worse about herself, I will help Paula make your life a living hell.”

Nathaniel’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Am I allowed to say something in my defense?” Valencia gestures for him to go ahead, but she already looks unmoved. “I care about Rebecca as much as you guys do. I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt or pressure her.”

“I know you say that, but men’s words are meaningless. So I guess you’ll just have to prove it by not being a Chan.”

“You could probably dial the jilted woman vibe back a little,” Heather says.

Valencia’s mouth scrunches up with distaste, and Heather gives her a pointed look.

“Fine,” Valencia says after letting out a huffy breath through her nose. “I take back what I said last. But _only_ that.”

“Fair enough.”

Satisfied, Valencia grabs the remote out of Heather’s hand and plays the movie.

Thankfully, Rebecca comes out of her room shortly after, saving Nathaniel from having to come up with something else to say.

“Hey, you ready?” she asks, and he pushes up out of his seat at the sound of her voice.

“Y-you look nice,” he says, taking in her hair done up in a twist and her fitted dress with beaded flowers around the hemline. “Beautiful.”

“You look beautiful, too. Or handsome, I guess,” she says, her eyes trailing down the length of his body in a way that makes him want to stand taller. “You know what? No. Words don’t have gender, and gender is more complex than the simple male-female dichotomy anyway. So you look beautiful tonight, good sir.”

“Thank you,” he says, bowing. He feels a rush of chagrin when he realizes what he’s doing, but Rebecca smiles in delight so he brushes the shame aside.

“Can you guys take your awkward flirting somewhere else?” Heather asks. “You’re really detracting from the cartoonish violence of Tarantino, and it’s kinda ruining my evening.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes, but grabs her bag from the kitchen counter and starts for the front door.

“Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Valencia says as they’re leaving. Her eyes lock with Nathaniel’s, and she gives him a chilling glare.

“So where’d you find such terrifying friends?” he asks as they get into the car.

“Oh no.” She looks up at him after fastening her seatbelt. “Valencia gave you the speech, didn’t she?”

“She was one step away from pulling out a hunting rifle,” he says, plugging an address into his phone’s GPS.

“Aww, poo Nathaniel. Was him scawed?” she asks, using her baby voice.

“Is that really necessary?”

“Does he need a huggie?”

“Stop it.”

“And a blankie?”

“That’s it. No musical for you. Get out of the car.”

That gets Rebecca to drop the baby voice. “Musical? Are we going to the _theater_?”

She speaks the last word in an exaggerated posh English accent, with three distinct syllables, and it makes Nathaniel shake his head fondly.

“You and I are going to see the national tour of that one deaf Spring Awakening production,” he confirms.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“I am.”

She smacks him on the shoulder. “You’re kidding!”

He shakes his head, and her mouth falls open into an absolutely gleeful smile that floods his chest with warmth.

“I just have one question for you,” he says, getting his feeling of giddiness in check long enough to level her with a serious look.

“What? What is it? What?”

“How do you feel about listening to the original cast recording on your way to and from the production?” He pulls the CD out of his center console with a flourish.

Rebecca clasps both hands over her heart. “When did you read ninth-grade Rebecca’s diary entry describing the perfect date? Put it in!”

Nathaniel smirks and does as he’s told.

###

“Is it, like, _so cool_ ushering here?” Rebecca asks the woman with gray, curled hair that’s escorting them to their seats. “I’m sure you get to see shows ten times each and know the actors’ performances in and out and, oh god, I’m getting faint just thinking about it.”

“I’ve got bad knees,” the usher says. “So I spend most of the performance out in the lobby where I can sit down.”

Rebecca clutches her chest like that’s the most devastating thing she’s ever heard, and Nathaniel smiles to himself.

“Holy crap, we’re getting so close to the front,” she says, leaning into him and giving him a hopeful look.

“Third row,” he tells her as they trail behind the usher down the aisle. She slaps him in the stomach and gifts him with another open-mouthed, gleeful smile.

Their seats are off-center—house left, stage right, Rebecca informs him—but they still have a pretty clear view of the whole stage.

“I’m loving this minimalist set. Do you dare me to try taking a picture without getting caught?”

“Are we twelve?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“I haven’t been this excited about anything since I was twelve, that’s for sure.”

Nathaniel shifts so he can study her closely. “Didn’t you grow up in New York? Haven’t you seen a lot of professional theater?”

She ducks her head, concentrating on her program. “My mom kept me pretty focused on school and stuff. She didn’t really want to encourage my interest in theater.”

“And when you were an adult?”

“I got to see a lot of community theater in college, but you aren’t offered the chance to become a junior partner at 28 if you spend all your time on Broadway.”

“Huh.”

“Yup.” Rebecca looks up at him and offers a shy smile. “You’re basically making some of my oldest dreams come true right now.”

He can practically feel himself soften into a mess of clichés—weak knees, tied tongue, jackhammering heart, and all. But before he can come up with something to say in response, the lights in the theater dim and a recorded announcement plays, reminding the audience to turn off their phones.

Nathaniel fishes his out of his pocket and is about to shut the volume off when it starts ringing: an incoming call from his father. He feels tension gather in his neck and shoulders, but—with Rebecca literally bouncing up and down in her seat next to him—he’s able to shake it off quickly.

It fills him with great satisfaction to hit ignore before turning off his phone.

When the lights go out completely and the orchestra starts playing the overture, Rebecca’s hand lands on his thigh, gripping hard.

He grins to himself and leans back in his chair, settling in for the evening.

###

Nathaniel spends much of the first act watching Rebecca watch the show. She’s awestruck, mouthing the words to every song and leaning so far forward in her seat that she’s practically at a forty-five degree angle, and he finds it incredibly endearing.

Not to mention, her hand never leaves his thigh. How could he possibly focus on the show when his heart leaps into his throat every time she gives him an excited squeeze?

It’s not until the act is coming to a close that the performance snags his attention back.

He’d read all about the controversies surrounding the show, so he’s not caught off guard, necessarily. But as things heat up onstage, he keeps expecting the actors to reach a line they won’t cross.

So when Melchior undoes the front of Wendla’s dress and her breasts are exposed to the audience, Nathaniel feels his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. It feels almost like an invasion of privacy, but he can’t look away—not even to check Rebecca’s reaction.

She doesn’t leave him hanging, though. As Melchior nuzzles into Wendla’s chest, Rebecca’s nails dig into Nathaniel’s thigh. He tries to swallow, but his throat is too dry. And it just gets drier as her fingers creep a couple inches higher on his thigh.

Sweat prickles along the back of his neck, and even though he can’t pry his eyes away from the stage, he’s no longer comprehending what’s happening. He practically jumps out of his skin when the stage lights cut off and then the house lights come on.

Rebecca shoots to her feet right away, smiling like nothing happened. “I’ll meet you back here after a bathroom break?”

He blinks, taking a moment to let reality lock back into place around him. “Uh, yeah. Good.”

She skips off, weaving around the other people who’ve gotten out of their seats.

“Someone did good.”

Nathaniel turns to find the woman sitting next to him smiling after Rebecca. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve clearly made your girlfriend very happy,” she says, turning her warm smile on him. “You two make a lovely couple.”

Nathaniel feels a rush of adrenaline at the assumption. Still, he opens his mouth to correct her…but instead finds himself saying, “Thank you. This is our first date, actually.”

“Oh, how romantic.”

He rolls his shoulders back, pleased, and the woman winks as she gets up and slides out of the row of seats. He allows himself to steep in the satisfaction for a moment before taking a trip to the restrooms.

On his way back to their seats, the merchandise booth catches his eye. He pushes his way through the crowded lobby to see what they have to offer.

Though he considers buying Rebecca clothing, he realizes he’s not sure what size she wears. Instead, he settles on the souvenir program full of glossy pictures and facts about the show. At the last minute, he picks out a keychain for himself.

He still makes it back to their seats before Rebecca, so he tucks the program under his chair for later.

She makes it back just as the lights start flashing, signaling the end of intermission.

“That bathroom line was rough,” she says, widening her eyes at him. “And I thought public bathroom smell was bad enough on its own, but imagine it masked by a medley of old lady perfumes.”

He wrinkles his nose. “That is not a sensory experience I want to think about.”

“Tell me about it.”

The house lights fade to black, putting an end to their conversation.

Nathaniel spends the first half of act two anticipating the moment Rebecca touches him again and the latter part trying to fight his foolish disappointment that she doesn’t.

###

“Oh, and the costumes!” Rebecca raves. “Can we talk about how Moritz Stiefel started the show in gray, but as his depression got worse, his clothes got darker and darker?”

“You caught a lot of detail,” he says, impressed. He just hopes she doesn’t ask him to provide his in depth commentary next because he’s not sure how he’d cover for the fact that he spent most of the show paying all his attention to her.

Their waiter comes by to pick up their dirty plates, then. “Can I interest you two in some dessert?”

Nathaniel looks to Rebecca. “What do you say? Want anything?”

“Would you share it with me?” she asks, tilting her head in challenge.

“Not likely.”

She squints at him, clearly trying to look mad, but there’s a twinkle in her eye that betrays her amusement. In response, he quirks one of his eyebrows and purses his lips.

After clearing her throat, she turns to the waiter. “No, thanks. _He’ll_ take the check.”

“Very well.”

“So, Plimpton, what else do you have up that sleeve of yours? A trip to Disney World? Jesse L. Martin? A stable and loving family?”

“Are you listing your other twelve-year-old dreams?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I did get you a present,” he says, and she claps. “But it’s not a trip to Disney World or Jesse L. Martin.”

“Wow. You managed to cram an entire stable and loving family in your suit jacket? That’s impressive. It still fits you like a glove.”

He tilts his head in acknowledgement, trying not to betray the fact that he suddenly feels a touch too warm. “It’s in the car actually, so you’ll have to be patient.”

She pouts out her lower lip, and—even though the waiter drops off the check at that moment—he gets distracted imagining himself kissing her. Just a light peck on the pouted lip before nipping at it and…

“Do I have crumbs on my face or something?”

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

“Oh, um, yeah, just a little something,” he says, gesturing to the corner of his own mouth and hoping she doesn’t notice him turning bright red.

Once their bill is squared away, they head out to the parking lot. The night is thick around them, but the air is brisk. A pleasant breeze comes off the golf course next door, carrying the scent of mown grass and tickling the nape of Nathaniel’s neck. As they head for his car, he notices Rebecca shiver and pull her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

Licking his lips, he shrugs out of his jacket and holds it out wordlessly to her.

She stops walking. “Oh, come on, dude. You have better game than that.”

He laughs. “I wasn’t going to assume that you’d be comfortable with such a forward gesture.”

Rebecca looks up at him over her shoulder as he drapes the jacket around her. “Valencia really scared you, huh?”

“Paula did most of the work, but Valencia definitely helped.” A surprised smile tugs at the corners of her lips. Nathaniel knows it has nothing to do with him, but he still feels himself respond in kind. “They really care about you.”

“God only knows why,” she says, but he can hear the gratitude under the forced nonchalance.

They reach his car, but neither of them makes a move to get inside.

“So,” he says, spinning his keys around on his finger.

“So,” she says back, watching them twirl. “This is it. The last stop.”

He feels his heart twist in time with his keys at the disappointment in her voice, and he holds up one finger, telling her to wait. Quickly, he retrieves the bag with the souvenir program from where he tossed it unceremoniously in the back seat, making sure to drop his keychain on the floor of the car before locking up again.

“Follow me,” he says, walking toward the golf course.

“What? What are you doing?” Her voice is high with worry, but he shuffles down the hill to the cart path without looking back. “Nathaniel!”

“You only get your present if you catch me,” he says, strolling further into the darkness.

He smiles to himself when he hears her shoes clomping against the concrete after him.

“This is probably the weirdest turn one of my dates has ever taken. And I’ve been on a lot of weird dates,” she says when she catches up to him.

“I’m sure you have, which is why I don’t believe this is the weirdest.”

“Okay, jeeze. Put away your claws, Tim Planpton.”

He glances over at her, frowning.

“That’s right, I found your Facebook.”

“How?”

“Yesterday afternoon, a bottle of rosé, and a burst of inspiration. Who’s Sarah Grace?”

They’re walking past the tee for hole sixteen, which is elevated over a water trap to create a small cliff. Nathaniel veers off the path and walks to the edge, sitting and dangling his feet over the murky pool.

Rebecca follows close behind.

“Lamest diversion ever,” she says.

“Isn’t this technically our first date? Shouldn’t I be allowed to save ex-girlfriend talk till at least the third…fourth…twentieth?” He fiddles with the bag from the merchandise booth, folding down the open end and placing it in his lap.

She nudges him with her shoulder. “It’s our first date, but we’ve been friends for months now.”

All it takes is a bat of her eyelashes to break him.

“She was my college girlfriend.”

“Obviously.”

“Do you want to tell the story?”

“Sorry,” she says, and then mimes zipping her mouth shut.

He sucks in a deep breath. “There’s actually not much to it. I loved her. I shared a lot with her. She left to be a missionary.”

Rebecca winces. “What is it with people and breakups involving God?”

He exhales an almost laugh. “My parents adored her, thought she was perfect. I think they blamed me for her leaving, thought I screwed everything up by being inherently unlovable or something.”

After a moment of painful silence, Rebecca rests her head against his arm, and Nathaniel relaxes.

“Is that my present?” she asks after a while, pointing to the bag.

“Oh, right,” he says, handing it to her. “I thought you’d want something to commemorate the performance.”

She slides the program out of the bag, and retrieves her phone from her bag so she can shine some light on it. Then she starts laughing.

“Not exactly the reaction I was anticipating.”

“No, no. It’s just…I got you something, too,” she says.

He tilts his head. “Is that so?”

She roots around in her purse before setting a mug in his outstretched hands. “Must be our great minds.”

“‘The bitch of living’,” he reads. “So charming. Do you think it’s appropriate to bring to the office?”

“It’s better than Karen’s ‘cunt’ mug.”

Nathaniel groans. “The one where the handle is the ‘C’? I thought she finally took that home.”

Rebecca shakes her head. “That’s just what she wanted you to think.”

“Why didn’t you just let me fire her when I had the chance?”

She laughs. “For your own good. Being around Karen builds character.”

“And what does being attacked with a pen build?”

“Sexual tension?” she guesses.

Nathaniel hums, assenting.

“Can I ask you a question?” Rebecca asks, watching her lap.

“Sure.”

“Did you pick sexy Spring Awakening because you thought it would increase your chances of getting lucky?”

He scoffs. “First of all, in what world are botched abortions sexy?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

He nods. “Okay. I chose the show because I saw you reading the play a couple months ago.”

Her head snaps up and she gives him a bemused smile. “You noticed that?”

“Of course.”

Even in the darkness, he can see her cheeks flush. “I’ve been reading all the scripts I own and pretending that I’m some big-shot director who’s been asked to put on a production here in West Covina.”

“I know. You’ve been scribbling notes in the margins.”

“Alright, Mr. I Know Everything,” she says, planting her left hand between them and leaning in a bit. “What else have you gleaned about me?”

“I know you’ve never going to give my Stanford Law shirt back.”

“Smart man. What else?”

“Do you want me to blow your mind right now?” he asks, angling himself toward her.

“Oh, yeah. Wow me.”

“You match your nail polish to whatever mood you’re in.”

“What? No I don’t. That’d be ridiculous,” she says, but she curls her fingers in toward her palms.

“I saw that,” he says, grinning.

“Fine,” she says, “maybe I do that a little bit.” She tosses her hair and scoots a little closer to him. “What color am I wearing tonight?”

He mirrors her movement, leaning in. “Pink.”

“And what mood is pink?” she asks, and their noses brush.

“You tell me,” he says, letting his eyes flutter closed.

A beat—Nathaniel can feel his pulse in his fingertips. He tilts his chin toward her ever-so-slightly…waiting.

“‘God, I dreamed there was an angel’,” Rebecca starts singing, off-key and under her breath. “‘Who could hear me through the wall, as I cried out, like in Latin, _This is so not life at all_ ’!”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“‘Help me out, out of this nightmare’,” she continues to sing, getting louder as she scrambles to her feet. “‘Then, I heard her sliver call. She said: _Just give it time kid, I come to one and all_ ’.”

“You better find another ride home,” Nathaniel yells after her as she takes off back in the direction they came.

Her voice carries back to him, and he stands reluctantly.

He can hear her singing the song all the way back to the car, and he shakes his head, exasperated with himself for finding it so damn charming.

###

“Thank you for a marvelous evening,” Rebecca says as they walk up to her front door. “I had a great time.”

Nathaniel draws in a deep breath, feeling shaky all over. Whatever she’s decided, he’s about to know for sure. “As did I.”

She hikes her bag higher onto her shoulder and fiddles with her keys. “So this is it.”

The fact that she won’t look him in the eye makes worry hitch in his chest.

“My week is officially over,” he says.

“Well, if we wanna get technical, the 168 hours are already up.”

“Rebecca.” It comes out as a plea.

She still won’t look at him, and his stomach turns.

“I…,” she starts after several tense seconds pass, but trails off, obviously unsure. She swallows hard and finally tilts her chin up so she can meet his searching stare.

He sees the rejection immediately. It settles around him like a thick fog, dulling his senses so that he’s only aware of the painful sensation of his heart working for every thud.

“Great, well, that’s settled then, isn’t it?” he says, backing away. “I’ll see you at work on Monday. Have a nice weekend.”

“Nathaniel, wait!”

“No, I really have to go,” he says, practically sprinting for his car.

“You have to ask first! You have to ask what I want for winning.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, gripping the handle of the driver’s side door so hard his joints ache. “Rebecca, I can’t do this right now, okay? Please don’t make me.”

“You don’t understand,” she says, her voice crackling with intensity. “Please trust me one last time.”

He shakes his head back and forth slowly, trying to dislodge her from his brain so he can get in the goddamn car.

But he doesn’t…he can’t.

With a resigned sigh, he opens his eyes. She’s watching him from the edge of her porch, eyes wide and frantic.

“What do you want?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

“I want you to resist me for a week.”

His eyebrows come together, and the foolish rush of hope he feels is like a salve on his throbbing heart. “I don’t…?”

“I want you to resist me for a week,” she repeats. “I’m issuing the same challenge—I win and these are my terms.”

Nathaniel lets go of the car door.

“You have to fight the urge to kiss me for a week,” she continues, staring him down. “And if I win—if you can’t do it—I win the opportunity to try this for real. You and me, together.”

His feet start working before his brain reboots long enough to think this through, and they’re urging him back to the porch…back to her.

“And if I lose, that’s it. Yeah. I’ll never flirt with you a—”

He cuts her off with a kiss, grabbing her face with both his hands so he can hold her steady as their lips crash together.

She’s ready for him, like she already knew he wouldn’t last more than a minute. She pushes into him, and their chins knock together and his nose is squashed against hers and her teeth scrape painfully against his lower lip.

And it’s perfect.

After a moment, his hands drop to her shoulders, easing her back down from her tip-toes and forcing their lips apart.

Her nails dig into his back just under his shoulder blades and she tries to pull him back to her.

Nathaniel laughs and partially complies, leaning in to ghost a kiss on one corner of her mouth…then the other. She tries to catch his lips both times, but he pulls away again.

She makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, and he rests his forehead against hers, closes his eyes, and smiles.

“You scared me there,” he whispers.

“I know,” Rebecca says, and the _duh_ is implied in her tone. “But can we maybe talk about this later? It has taken every ounce of my self-control—of which there is not much—to not fuck you this week, and I’m pretty much sick of being responsible.”

“Later, then,” Nathaniel agrees.

She grunts in agreement and then does something that sends tingles running from the crown of his head down to the bottoms of his feet—she grabs onto both his ears and pulls him in for an open-mouthed kiss.

They jump apart moments later when the front door crashes open.

“You’re going to start attracting a crowd if you keep this up,” Valencia says breezily as she walks past them on the way to her car. “You know you have a bed for this sort of thing, right, Rebecca?”

“Beds are for the unimaginative!” Rebecca yells after her.

Valencia waves her hand in response.

“Yeah, so, I’m leaving,” Heather says, following V. “Don’t go in my room or have sex on the kitchen table. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon when I know it’s safe.”

“Better make it tomorrow night,” Rebecca tells her, waggling her eyebrows at Nathaniel. Warmth gathers in the pit of his stomach.

Heather’s parting remark is, “Gross.”

Seconds later, they hear the car start, and Heather and Valencia honk as they pull away.

Rebecca nods toward the house. “Shall we?”

Instead of answering, he gathers her in his arms, his lips searching for hers.

###

They barely make it past the foyer but do manage to get the front door closed just in time.

###

“I have a question,” Nathaniel says much later that evening. They’ve finally made it to the bed, but they’re both spent for the time being.

Rebecca’s arm tightens around his waist and she nuzzles further into the crook of his arm. “Okay. What is it?”

He swallows, his throat thick, and traces lines from her shoulder down the length of her arm. “Why the bait and switch earlier?”

“Oh, um.” She clears her throat, but instead of continuing, she rolls on top of him and plants her palms on either side of his head. There’s a glint in her eyes that makes Nathaniel’s breath catch. She notices and smirks before ducking her head and closing her teeth around the flesh of his neck—right where his birthmark is.

His hips jerk up involuntarily, and she rewards him by rolling hers.

He almost lets her divert his attention, but the pain of the rejection still smarts. He wants to know what it was all for.

“Rebecca.”

She takes it as an urging and tongues at his tender skin.

With a groan, he flips them over, pinning her to the mattress. “Why?”

Her eyes flutter closed as he presses against her and her legs wrap around his lower back. “Shhh.”

He kisses her, but it’s gentle and quick—clearly not what she’s looking for.

“Please tell me,” he whispers, and she opens her eyes.

His heart squeezes at the vulnerability he finds there, and he strokes her cheek, brushing some hair off her face with the same sweep of his hand.

She lets a soft whine escape, and her lower lip trembles. “It was a test.”

“A test?” he asks, watching her closely.

“Not for you,” she says. “You’ve been, well, better than I could have ever hoped. It was for me.”

He gets off her then, settling next to her on his side. “What kind of test?”

She shifts onto her side so she can face him. “Okay,” she says, letting out a breath in a rush. “It’s like...if I rushed right into another relationship the first chance I got, then I haven’t changed at all. So, somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that if I waited, then I could be worthy of what you were offering. I could say that I’d changed. Maybe not completely and maybe not forever. But I’d have made _some_ progress. I know, it’s stupid, but—”

He kisses her again, his fingers sinking into her hair and clutching desperately. She’s panting by the time he pulls away.

“That’s not stupid,” he says. And then adds because he just can’t help it—not after everything that’s happened tonight, “I love you.”

A tear runs down the side of her nose and then drips off the end. “I can’t say it back right now.”

“I don’t need you to,” he reassures.

She laughs, then, and the sound works itself into the gaps between his ribs. Into his chest cavity. Into the center of his heart.

“Who would have thought that you—my arrogant jerk of a boss who I was pretty sure would ruin my new, happy life the moment I met him—would be the one to convince me that love is still worthwhile.”

“It’s a funny world we live in,” Nathaniel says, trying not to sound as giddy as he feels. But it doesn’t work and he feels a wide grin overtake him.

She scrubs the remaining tears out of her eyes before smiling back. The easiness of it overwhelms him, and he has to pull her tight against his chest.

“Hey,” she says, and her hot breath tickles his collarbone.

“Hey.”

“I have a challenge for you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I challenge you to have sex with me on every accessible surface in this house but Heather’s room and the kitchen table.”

She can probably hear the way his heartbeat jumps at the suggestion. “Even the shower?”

“Especially the shower.”

“And the kitchen island?”

“Hey, it’s Heather’s fault for not naming that as one of the places that’s off limits.”

He pretends to think it over. “And what are the terms?”

“If you can’t fulfill this challenge, you have to let me try to have sex with you on every accessible surface in your condo.”

He rolls them over so she’s once again trapped between him and the mattress. Her eyes are glistening with mischief, and it makes him breathless.

After giving her a searing kiss, though, he gets off the bed and starts backing for the door. “Meet you in the shower?”

She clambers off the bed after him.

“Oh, it’s so on.”


End file.
